


Maximum Tempo

by PunkHazard



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7784377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkHazard/pseuds/PunkHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ninja yakuza playboy meets international superstar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it................................... is rough.... and ends abruptly because i realized i should be working on heliotropic instead of getting sucked into yet another project. the au where genji doesn't get as badly hanzo'd as he did in the prime timeline...!

Genji steps out of the hotel room– showered, changed, clean pressed suit provided by his first lieutenant; the daughter of a sometimes-rival/sometimes-partner boss still sleeping in the massive king-sized bed behind him. He greets the severe-looking woman standing outside their room with a polite nod to her bow at the waist, and meets his own bodyguard in the lobby. They talk casually until Genji slides into the back seat of the armored sedan he’d arrived in, silent for the fifteen minutes it takes for them to return to Shimada Castle.

「You’re late,」 Hanzo comments, looking up from his laptop as Genji lets himself into the room and shuts the sliding door behind him. He’s set up at the low chabudai table in the center of the tatami floor. 「How did it go?」

「You can’t rush certain processes, brother.」 Genji moves across the room, bare feet making no sound as he leans over Hanzo’s shoulder to read off his screen. 「She’s pretty involved in the organization. I’ve pulled the contacts list, e-mails, call and message history. Still think I took too long?」

Hanzo’s the one who’ll have to deal with her father, if he should ever find out, so he shoots Genji a baleful look. 「You didn’t have to sleep with her to retrieve that data.」

「I needed time to decrypt her phone.」 Genji settles across the table, folding his legs under him as he sheds his blazer, loosens his tie and rolls up his sleeves. He hands over a flash drive loaded with the information, and waits for Hanzo to upload it onto his computer before he leans forward, elbows resting on the cool wood. 「And regarding the potential business partners you mentioned,」 Genji says when Hanzo finally seems done, 「I have a suggestion.」

Their father’s generation of oyabun have been dropping like flies for several years, groups taken over by sons and occasional daughters. Many of them have no interest in the rivalries of their parents’ generation– Hanzo and Genji included, though they’ve been at work for nearly a decade longer than their new peers. 「Yes?」 prompts Hanzo, knowing better than to argue with Genji regarding things like building relationships and establishing connections.

「Most of them are our age or a little younger.」 Genji flashes him a grin. 「Most of them aren’t as uptight as you, so I thought we could host them at Hanami for a night, as a welcome party.」 The Shimada group owns several clubs around Hanamura, Hanami being the biggest; Genji oversees their operations, making his rounds almost every night while Hanzo focuses on the arms trade and racketeering side of the family business.

Hanzo keeps his hands out of it; Genji’s projects always turn a steady profit. 「No strippers,」 he says.

「There would be enough of us to fill up the place even without hiring outsiders,」 Genji retorts, having lost interest in staffing his parties with strippers years ago, though he’d stayed in contact with many of them. 「Any who come, come as guests.」

Hanzo gives him a look.

「Hanami fits four hundred people comfortably,」 Genji says, this time defensive. 「I’m not inviting our contemporaries to a half-empty club. Besides, we’ll be hosting prospective kumichou too, won’t we? I don’t want to have to do this every few years when another boss kicks it.」

「That could end in a bloodbath,」 Hanzo snorts.

「We’ll do a nice private dinner in the lounge area,」 Genji continues patiently, 「small plates for an hour or two for the guests, then start the party. If you need any of them softened up for negotiations, you can tell me who they are and I’ll have my people on it.」

Hanzo strokes his beard, looking thoughtful. 「Food?」

「Namikawa-san trained in Italy,」 says Genji, motioning for paper and a pen, then turning the sheet over to begin writing, 「and I can pull staff from Tsukimi and Mizumi to back him up.」

Sounding more amenable to the idea but not quite convinced, Hanzo prompts, 「Entertainment.」

「Have you heard of Lúcio Correia dos Santos?」 Genji spins the pen over his thumb, then catches it and jots down the name. 「I asked if he’d like to visit Hanamura after his concert in Shibuya, and he may agree to DJ. I’ll convince him somehow.」

「And how do you expect us to pay for all this?」

「We will have an internationally renowned DJ at our club; we sell tickets for the night, priced up to account for free drinks at the bar, and use that to dent the cost of dinner and the performance.」 Genji grins at the begrudgingly impressed look on his brother’s face, extending his fist across the table. 「Once I calculate it, I might even turn us a profit.」

Hanzo glances at Genji’s forearm, his sleeve rolled up far enough to reveal old burns mottling the green pattern etched in his skin. Nodding, he bumps his own fist against Genji’s. 「Do it.」

 

* * *

 

Stepping off the bullet train with his luggage, Lúcio stretches his back, his shoulders, swinging his arms back and forth a few times to loosen them up as well after a nearly three hour ride. He’s greeted on the platform by a young man dressed in a formal black suit, who politely escorts him out of the station and hustles him into a shiny black BMW, assuring him that his equipment will be taken care of.

It all seems unbelievably shady, though he tries not to think about the stories he’d heard of the Shimada Group’s activities. He’d done his research; alleged arms trade, assassinations, racketeering. There were also reports of the Shimadagumi’s significant contributions to dealing with the Omnic Crisis in Japan, funneling supplies into decimated neighborhoods, providing manpower and funds for rebuilding, taking omnics under their protection after the war. A mixed bag. He’s already decided to turn them down, but he’d also always wanted to see Hanamura.

Another man greets him when he arrives at his hotel, this one in a tailored grey suit, green silk tie in a jaunty half-windsor around his neck. He looks a few years older than Lúcio, good-natured brown eyes, a mischievous quirk to his lips, his hair cut close and short but not buzzed to the scalp. Broad shoulders, slim hips. Burn scars cover the right side of his neck, poking over his shirt’s collar whenever he turns his head. “Welcome to Hanamura,” he says in greeting, a slight accent rounding his words but otherwise sounding perfectly fluent. “I’m Shimada Genji. We spoke over e-mail?”

Lúcio shakes the hand Genji extends, enthusiastically pumping it a few times before he’s motioned into the hotel. “Thanks for having me!”

“Thank you for coming out,” Genji answers, walking him to the elevator and inserting a card key into the slot. “This will take you straight up to your suite,” he explains, handing the card to Lúcio once they’ve arrived. “If you lose it, the front desk will provide you with a new one.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“If you would like to rest,” Genji says, staying near the elevator while Lúcio makes a few rounds through the room, flipping through every booklet, brochure and binder in plain view, “feel free to do so. If you’d like to see the city, I would be happy to give you a tour.”

“I slept on the train,” Lúcio answers, “so if you don’t mind?”

Genji beckons him back to the elevator. “Did you eat yet?”

“Not since breakfast.”

“Do you eat sushi?”

“Love it!”

Genji grins. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

Halfway through their respective lunch sets, having avoided all conversation about business, Genji mentions to Lúcio, “I first heard of you after your underground show in São Paulo, about two years ago. YAZKO mentioned you on her Twitter, and I was hooked.”

Surprised, Lúcio does a comically exaggerated double-take. “You know Yasu? She’s the reason I went viral in Japan!”

“She played at Hanami several times before she signed with a label,” Genji answers. An MC based in the small town just next to Hanamura, she’d gotten her break after Genji invited her to do a show, then another one– that time with a few record producers in attendance. He’s always been opportunistic about his favors, mostly to potential headliners and young talent, compared to the grizzled, hardened businesspeople Hanzo insists on working with. Then again, their interests have always been focused in different places.

Lúcio whips out his phone. “I gotta text her,” he says– half to confirm Genji’s story, half out of pure curiosity. “‘Scuse me.”

> hey yasu, i might be playing at hanami. anything to watch out for? should i do it?

“Of course. Tell her I said hello.” Genji smiles, as if genuinely happy that Lúcio knows an acquaintance of his. “And Manuel Ortero, if they are in the studio today.”

Manuel Ortero– an artist from Costa Rica Lúcio’s met once or twice doing underground shows in Central America. His jaw drops, already imagining YAZKO’s beats and Manuel’s mixes, musical styles similar but dissonant enough that their mashups have bumped up against ten million views online. “She’s doing a collab with M.O.?”

“Yes, but don’t tell anyone just yet.”

Lúcio’s phone buzzes.

> are u with genji rn???? he’ll treat u right, dont worry

He makes a face at the screen, then looks back up at Genji, suddenly very tempted to accept the gig. “Manny’s played at Hanami too, right?” Meanwhile, he shoots back:

> are you implying something………….

> ;)  
> theyll acomadate (sry cant spell) whtvr u ask for n pay fast, and if u want an intro genki will set u up  
> def do it

> genki….

> isnt he cute???

The man doesn’t give off a 'genki’ vibe at all, But Lúcio takes a second to appreciate the way Genji’s eyes light up, the pride in his voice and expression as he talks about his hometown. He’s seemed mellow and restrained since Lúcio met him, always polite but with the swagger of a man who owns everything around him. “We are not as big as some of the clubs in Tokyo,” Genji explains, “but for up-and-coming musicians, Hanamura has been a proving ground for years. I try to invite artists from all over the world, if they are willing.”

Lúcio flashes him a wry grin, not totally convinced but– “You ever call in all these favors?”

“I never have to.” Leaning back, Genji crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side, his collar pulling down with the movement of his shoulder, revealing more of the scar on his neck– and a flash of green. “Any artists who do not have the same sense of, ah, reciprocity, do not stay in contact with me for very long. The others offer on their own, when they think we could use their help.”

Somehow, that answer’s twice as intimidating as any casual confirmation of the Shimadas 'calling in favors’ through threat of physical force, but Genji seems to think that’s a very normal sort of situation. Lúcio dims his phone and stuffs it back into his pocket. “Look,” he says, “I know what the Shimadas do. I’m not going into this blind, and any connection to you guys might come back to bite me. If I take a hit to my image, you’ve gotta make this worthwhile.”

Genji seems to take no offense to the implication that the Shimada Group engages in criminal activities, only giving a slight nod. “Of course.”

“What’re the consequences of not cooperating with you guys?”

“I have been… somewhat soured to the idea of consequences for refusal.” Genji reaches up, fingers unconsciously resting on his neck, over the burns Lúcio had glimpsed earlier. “If you choose not to do the show, I hope you will enjoy your time in Hanamura regardless. I can find someone else to fill the spot but to be perfectly honest, you’re my first choice. Especially for an event as important as this one. You will, of course, be compensated for your time and effort.”

“You got paper?”

Genji slides a business card across the table, blank side up, and a pen.

“Forty percent of the net profit to these guys,” Lúcio says, sliding the card back across, a name scrawled across it. “It’s a foundation that provides resources to poor and native Brazilian kids. I vetted them personally. Think it’s best if I don’t take a check from the Shimada Group.”

“We don’t expect to make a profit on this event,” says Genji, committing the name to memory before extracting his business card-holder and dutifully storing it. “It is… more of an investment toward future projects. If fifteen percent of the gross profit is acceptable to you, I will make it happen.”

Lúcio narrows his eyes. “How much were you gonna pay me?”

“About that much.”

“Give 'em twenty, and I’m in.”

“The show is in two days,” says Genji, extending his hand across the table to seal the deal. “You can come and go as needed to direct your crew, and I will send you the itinerary and a contract. If you or your lawyers have questions, feel free to contact me. Are you going to finish that?”

Lúcio glances down at his lunch after shaking Genji’s hand, pulling the box closer to his side of the table, one arm curling protectively around it. Genji distracted him with negotiations, but what he’d tasted of it was delicious. “Yeah, probably.”

“I was just asking,” Genji sighs, motioning a server over and asking for a dessert menu.

Lúcio’s not sure whether or not the disappointment on his face is real, but the exact feeling of 'I still want to eat but can’t justify another order’ is so achingly familiar to him that he laughs and shuffles two pieces of his makizushi across the table into Genji’s empty box. “I’m not big on salmon anyway,” he says by way of explanation.

 

* * *

 

“You agreed to _how much_?” Hanzo practically sputters over his keyboard upon hearing the deal Genji had hammered out with Lúcio. “Cancel it. Find someone else. _I_ will find someone.”

“Kotowaruze, anija.” At Hanzo’s eyebrow raise, Genji irritably switches back to English, knowing that he’d never hear the end of it if he were the first one to give up on practice hour. “I don’t think it is possible to do better than Lúcio, especially with his status on the international scene. Besides, all you really know is enka singers.”

“Enka singers are innovative,” Hanzo sniffs. “The EDM crowd only riffs on old material.”

Ready as ever to repeat the argument (unwilling to pass up a chance to tease his brother for his taste in music), Genji rests one hand on the edge of Hanzo’s desk and leans across it. “How are enka singers not riffing on old material?” he asks, incredulous. “That’s literally what enka is: old material. And you said yourself that Lúcio’s music is great.”

“Not,” says Hanzo, “great enough to take up twenty percent of our gross profit.”

Genji moves behind Hanzo’s chair, hands coming to rest on his shoulders as Genji digs his thumb into a knot at the base of his neck. Hanzo snorts, but tension leaks from his shoulders as Genji continues the impromptu massage. He used to do this to their father when he wanted something, hands too small to properly apply pressure but the sentiment was always enough to charm the old man into agreeing to whatever the devious little sparrow wished. “Trust me,” Genji tells him, voice low and smooth. “Don’t you always regret not listening to me?”

“How are you going to pull this off?” Hanzo sighs at last.

He had inherited their father’s lean face, narrow eyes, the chains to duty and honor and family. Genji took after their gentle, free-spirited mother. Maybe, Hanzo considers, he had received their father’s weakness for that kind of person as well– or it’s the guilt lingering on his soul, the bitter memory of his own actions against someone he’d claimed as a five-year-old (back before Genji learned how to sass people) to love more than anyone else in the world. Every time Genji scratches at the old burns on his arms, runs his fingers along the scars on his neck–

Genji’s forgiven him.

It had been Hanzo, after all, who systematically unseated every one of the Shimada Group’s board and instated a new panel of figureheads while Genji recovered, completely rehauling the organizations’ structure while the 'elders’ met untimely ends in very close succession. They have an argument every time Hanzo tries to convince Genji that he doesn’t deserve to be redeemed, to the point where Hanzo’d stopped trying and decided to wallow in guilt alone.

“Do you know how much a ticket to one of Lúcio’s shows can go for?” Genji tugs Hanzo’s gold ribbon loose, dropping it into his lap, then works the elastic band off Hanzo’s ponytail, drawing it tight between two fingers as he hovers behind. “We sold out in one day. As it stands, this whole event will not cost us more than a few thousand USD, and think about the potential doors it will open.”

“You always take these risks–” Hanzo cuts off with a surprised shout as Genji snaps his own hairtie against the back of his neck. He doesn’t retaliate, but the glare he fixes on his brother has left far more powerful men in tears.

Genji simply grins at him. “Isn’t that what I’m here for?”

 

* * *

 

The next day, Genji drops in on the club with lunch for Lúcio’s entire crew as they set up, his own men loading a table until it practically bends under the weight of so much rice and curry. Genji loiters with the crew long enough to point sound and light engineers to the control room, check in on roadies hooking up Lúcio’s equipment, and direct his own staff to help out where they can.

Lúcio doesn’t join them for the entire hour or so his crew takes for lunch, though Genji catches glimpses of him skating around the space, always moving with purpose. Every once in a while Genji will see him look at the table, nod to himself as if making a mental note to eat, then pass by without giving the food a second glance five minutes later.

He has an underling fill a plate with rice and curry, then wrap it and set it aside in the kitchen for if Lúcio ever decides that he has time for food.

That moment comes nearly an hour later, long after the curry and rice have been packed up and shuffled away. Lúcio stops where the table had been, glancing around the club in confusion at the sudden change in setting. “So,” he says, sheepish but resigned to not eating until dinner, “no more food, huh?”

“Actually,” says Genji.

That’s as far as he gets before a man, slightly older than Lúcio, points toward the kitchen. “Saved a plate for you in the fridge.”

“Oh,” a short, cheerful-looking woman says, laughing, “I have one for you too, Lúcio.”

The sound engineer slaps his palm against his forehead. “Me too! I saw all those plates, I thought the rest of you were just really greedy.”

“I’m not,” Lúcio answers, mouth stretched into an affectionate grin, “gonna eat all that curry. But thanks, you guys.”

“We have a microwave,” Genji offers, moving toward the kitchen. “I can show you?”

When they enter the walk-in fridge, Lúcio scratches the back of his neck, regarding the collection of food set out on the shelf nearest to the door. “Four plates?” he says, looking at Genji, perplexed. He could’ve sworn it was only three of his people who’d spoken up, although it’s not unheard of for just about all of them to hoard food for him, when he’s been conspicuous about having missed lunch.

Genji coughs into his fist and adjusts his collar, pulling it higher against the cool air. “I, ah. Saved one for you as well.”

“Oh,” says Lúcio, unable to suppress a crooked smile, “hey, thanks. I’ll take that one, then.”

“I also,” Genji replies, picking up a plate, “often forget to eat. My people are not as cute as yours, however.”

Lúcio returns Genji’s wry shrug with a brilliant grin of his own. “They are pretty great.”

Moving for the fridge door, Genji bumps it open with his hip, catching it before it can bounce back and hit Lúcio in the face. “Let’s get out before you catch a cold,” he says, popping the plate into the microwave. He lets it run in silence for a minute, then extracts it and leads Lúcio to the lounge area, where Hanami’s staff is busy rearranging furniture for the dinner, Lúcio’s crew occasionally mixed in with them as they scramble to set up equipment.

They settle on a couch, the low table in front of them not particularly suited to eating actual meals off of but Lúcio manages it, leaning forward while he shoves food into his mouth. Genji sits with an ankle crossed over his knee, looking perfectly relaxed in the space despite the bustle of people around them, his phone in hand as he checks his messages. He stands up when Lúcio’s about halfway through his plate, ducking behind the bar and returning with a glass of ice water just in time to prevent Lúcio choking on a chunk of potato.

Lúcio downs the glass, scraping his spoon across his plate for the last few grains of rice. “So,” he says, “any picks for the concert?”

Genji looks up from his phone. “Your Synaesthesia album is the most well-known,” he says, looking thoughtful, “but you did an underground show in Buenos Aires I can’t forget. The third song.”

“Justiça!” Lúcio supplies, grinning. He’d composed it the night before the show in response to a government crackdown against refugees from Bolivia; songs he writes when feeling strong emotions always evoke the best reactions from an audience. “A lot of people keep pushing me to release it as a track, but I’m still tweaking it. You liked that?”

“Yes. Very much.”

Lúcio gives him a long, considering look. “So you’re that kinda guy, huh?”

Genji leans slightly away from the intense stare leveled at him. “What kind of guy?”

“It’s not foolproof or anything, but I always feel like I can tell a lot about a person by which songs resonate with 'em.”

“'Justice’?” asks Genji, sounding skeptical. He doesn’t need to bring up Lúcio’s initial suspicions to remind him that maybe a man associated with the Shimada criminal empire isn’t going to be too hooked on the idea of justice.

“It’s called that,” Lúcio laughs, “but it’s about helping people.” The day he learned that he could not only evoke certain thoughts and emotions, but incite people to act with his music (somewhat thanks to the Vishkar amplifier he’d liberated then jury-rigged) was also the day he started planning to uproot Vishkar from Brazil. He’d infused the same kind of vibe into 'Justiça’– a call to action born from compassion.

“I don’t do very much of that,” Genji replies, bitterness creeping in at the edges of his voice. “Maybe your music is about what someone wants to be rather than what they are.”

Lúcio looks at him again, his own heel tapping erratically against the tile. “Someone who wants to help others is alright in my book, man.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Genji answers after a pause. Then he stands, picking up Lúcio’s plate. He’s acutely aware of Lúcio’s eyes on him, bright and clear, and the serious set of his mouth. Changing the subject, Genji decides that for once he’ll agree to Hanzo’s request for his presence at some meeting. “I have to return to work,” he continues, clapping Lúcio on the shoulder and flagging a bartender to get the dirty plate back into the kitchen, “but good luck setting up, Lúcio. I am looking forward to tomorrow night.”

 

* * *

 

Genji exaggerates a yawn, rolling his shoulders as he trails Hanzo out of the meeting room. 「That was a drag,」 he complains cheerfully, speeding up to fall in step beside his brother, his shoulder lightly bumping Hanzo’s as they walk. 「Remind me not to attend your meetings ever again.」

Hanzo doesn’t look over, his voice unamused as Genji checks his phone, the younger man’s face falling in disappointment at the absence of messages. 「You were with him, weren’t you?」

Genji rarely looks so relaxed after a meeting, especially one where he’s required to charm and wheedle their way into a deal. He’s never liked negotiation despite being generally skilled at it, and he’s never liked taking the conciliatory role to Hanzo’s displays of uncompromising strength. It’s hard to deny that they make an impressive team, however, and his uncharacteristic good mood can usually be attributed to having been around someone he’s interested in– at least for the moment. 「Is it wrong to make our guest feel welcome?」 Genji shoots back, his tone light.

「Is that all you’re doing?」 Hanzo snorts when Genji says nothing, the silence more telling than any reply he’d be able to muster. 「You should stop. It won’t last.」

Genji shrugs, unaffected. 「It never does.」

「So why keep this up?」 Unable to keep the challenge out of his voice, Hanzo rounds on his brother as they both come to a stop in the corridor, backing Genji up against the wall. Eyes narrowing, he curls his lip and sneers. 「Because he makes you happy for a few minutes when you see him?」

Whatever knowingly misdirected anger Hanzo feels dissipates when Genji sighs, resigned. Little brother always gets too friendly, too attached, too invested. When the object of his attention moves on (and they always do), he mopes for days on end despite making no effort to keep them. 「When has happiness ever been part of the equation for the two of us?」 asks Genji, sidestepping Hanzo and continuing down the hall. 「Let me have this, brother. When it ends, it ends.」

Hanzo frowns after him.

_Is Genji not happy?_

He has money to buy what he wants, the freedom to do as he pleases, the resources to go wherever his whims take him. All he ever has to do is check in with Hanzo once in a while and not shirk on the few duties assigned to him. He gets to party with celebrities and executives, drink the best wines and liquors money can buy and sleep with beautiful people whenever he likes. By all rights, Genji should be as ecstatic with his life as Hanzo is with his own. They were born to rule, and they do it well.

Then again, Hanzo considers, Genji never was interested in building empires.

 

* * *

 

The concert proceeds exactly as planned. Genji knows events, knows when less involvement means a better result, and Lúcio has the experience and know-how to run his own show. Genji finds him afterward, slouched in a seat in a far-off corner of the lounge, the speakers pounding out a playlist he’d curated specially for the post-concert. Genji drops a towel in his lap and presses a cold bottle of water to Lúcio’s sweaty upper arm. The other man looks up, expression breaking into a grin when he recognizes Genji’s face in the darkness of the club, illuminated briefly by flashes of colored light.

“Like the show?” he shouts over his music. “I even played Justiça for you!”

Rather than screaming to be heard, Genji leans down, his mouth right by Lúcio’s ear. “It was excellent,” he tells him as Lúcio unscrews the bottlecap and tips his head back to drink. “Would you rather rest somewhere more quiet?”

As much as he likes the music reverberating through his body, the humidity and heat of people jammed into one place enjoying the hell out of themselves, Lúcio’s exhausted. He makes it a point to put on a _show_ , no standing idly in the booth while everyone else gets pumped– he’s all over the stage, high-fiving the audience, switching songs on a dime and mashing them up just to change the beat. He hadn’t seen Genji in the crowd, probably somewhere shmoozing with his brother’s crowd, but he’d clearly heard the music. “Yeah,” Lúcio answers, taking the hand offered to him and letting Genji pull him to his feet, “let’s bounce. Can’t leave my crew, though.”

“It’s still in the club,” Genji reassures him, leading him up a set of steps to the glass-windowed room overlooking the dance floor.

Lúcio had glanced it earlier, assuming it was just an office, but in addition to the desk it contains, there’s a mini refrigerator and a long, black leather couch. Lúcio settles down on the couch with his half-empty bottle, Genji at the desk, and Lúcio shucks off his gear, slowly lists sideways until he’s lying down, feet still on the floor, basking in the air conditioning and soundproof walls. He closes his eyes, toweling off his face. “Quiet in here, huh?”

“I can open one of the windows,” Genji offers, looking up briefly from the laptop set up at his desk.

“Oh– no, I just meant, it’s nice. I might just pass out here.”

“Feel free, Lúcio.” Genji’s not looking at him anymore, focusing on his screen, but the smile in his voice is readily apparent. “I can give you a ride back to your hotel as well, if you’d rather turn in early.”

“You don’t have to go out of your way, I’ll head back with my guys.” Lúcio yawns, then shifts, eventually propping his calves up on the sofa’s arm, his skates hanging over the edge so as not to dirty or slice the cushy leather. He shifts again, back bowing as he arches to relieve pressure on his lower back and thighs, hard metal digging into his spine. “Unless I’m getting in your way here?”

“You are not in the way,” Genji says steadily, only half-watching him contort on the couch.

“Then I’ll crash for a bit,” Lúcio says, still disgruntled that he can’t find a comfortable position and unwilling to take off his prosthetics. “Thanks, man.”

Genji stands after a few seconds, strides to a closet and takes out a pillow and a light blanket. He ferries them to Lúcio, shaking out the cover and motioning for Lúcio to lie down normally. “Don’t worry about the couch,” he sighs, looking mildly exasperated, “and use these, the air conditioner is always turned to high in here.”

Lying down with his skates on isn’t comfortable even on the best of days, but he finds a reasonable way to be on his back, hair regrettably uncovered but he decides to let it go– a brief nap wouldn’t hurt much. Looking up, Lúcio grins at the soft smile on Genji’s face. “I love that you keep a pillow and a blanket on hand here.”

“I have had to spend many nights here myself,” Genji answers as he heads back to his desk. It’s almost midnight, not too late for one of Lúcio’s concerts but he’s still dealing with jetlag and the strain of two straight days of setup.

“Working hard?” Lúcio asks through a yawn.

Genji turns his laptop to show the loadscreen of a popular FPS game. “For a given value of working.”

“Nice!”

 

* * *

 

When Lúcio finally gives up on sleep, sitting up on the couch and leaning back into the cushions, he looks at Genji out of the corner of his eyes until the other man finally meets his gaze, expression mischievous. “Do you want a drink?” Genji asks, cocking one eyebrow. He’s shed his blazer, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, looking much more relaxed than the man who’d been strutting around perfectly dressed in a full bespoke suit.

“From the bar?”

Genji points at his fridge. “I have my own stock.”

“I’d be down to see what Shimada Genji drinks.”

“Don’t get too excited. My collection is not as fancy as Hanzo’s.”

“Expensive taste?”

“Very. Patrón Platinum?”

“Sure. It is way too late to do shots, though.”

Genji brandishes a bottle of ginger ale and a bottle of cranberry juice. “Mixers.”

“Totally ruining expensive tequila,” Lúcio laughs, but he readily accepts the glass Genji pours for him.

An hour later Lúcio’s divested of most of his equipment and vaguely buzzed, barely enough for him to feel the effects of alcohol. Genji had somehow gotten him started on an analysis of modern reggaeton and the effects it might have on a human body if Lúcio tried to incorporate it into his sonic amplifier and they’d gotten _weirdly specific_. Lúcio’s described the general impact of each kind of instrument and rhythm– most of it pretty intuitive, though the fact that electronica matching someone’s heartbeat then abruptly stopped could seriously mess up a person with a weak heart had taken Genji by surprise.

Moving on, Lúcio takes a sip of his drink, now watered down, and sucks a half-melted cube of ice into his mouth. “What about DJs from Japan?”

“Japanese MCs?” Genji picks up his own glass of diluted cocktail and drinks slowly, condensation dripping unheeded into his lap. “You can’t beat Nujabes for classic.”

Lúcio shifts the ice to his cheek, tongue idly working at it before he crunches down and swallows the chips. “I jammed to Shing02 too. They were friends, weren’t they?”

Genji swallows. “Yes,” he says, taking a quick drink, “many collaborations.”

“Did you know Daft Punk?”

“Of course. They were popular here. Sakamoto Ryuichi?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lúcio gives him a look, as if questioning whether or not he really _knows_ the extent of Japanese cultural osmosis into Brazil, and shifts a bit closer. “Dude was a pioneer.”

“I was a fan of MINMI.” Genji taps the rim of his glass against his bottom teeth before swirling the liquid around to mix liquor into melted ice. “YAZKO said that she was her inspiration as well.”

“You listen to a lot of old stuff, huh.”

“Today’s music owes everything to the classics,” Genji huffs. “How can we claim to understand and appreciate contemporary artists without that frame of reference?”

“Anyone can enjoy music, Genji.” Lúcio seems very determined about this idea. “Doesn’t matter if they know the history or not.”

“Mm. Of course.” Gesturing with his glass, Genji sighs, “I just find it more enjoyable to  _know_.”

Lúcio moves closer again, so their knees are touching, and he extends his drink to clink it gently against Genji’s. “I hear that!”

When Genji finally sets down his cup and leans back, he slings one arm across Lúcio’s shoulders– casual, almost practiced with how smoothly he’d accomplished it. Lúcio’s acutely aware of the muscle padding every inch of Genji’s torso, the arm around his shoulders hard and thick under a very thin, somewhat distressed layer of fabric. It hadn’t been clear with the lean cut of Genji’s suit, but Lúcio’s suddenly aware of how scrawny he probably seems in comparison. Not that it seems to bother Genji, who’s shifted in close enough that they’re practically pressed up against each other.

“You’ve known me,” Lúcio says, sounding amused as he makes no move to put distance between them, “for two days.”

Genji turns, brings his face close, barely an inch away from Lúcio’s. Without missing a beat, “I’ve wanted to do this for both of them.”

Lúcio’s speechless for a second, unable to tear his eyes away from the arrogant quirk of Genji’s lips, sharp eyes narrowed with predatory focus. “Oh yeah?” he manages at last, half-laughing at the lameness of his own retort.

“I was a fan of your music,” Genji tells him, pulling back a bit, shifting briefly into his usual easy-going persona, “but I’ve come to respect your principles and your dedication to your community.” Genji never makes physical contact with Lúcio’s face but hovers close, clearly mapping out every inch of skin visible to him. “You are fearless,” he growls, “talented, and very cute.”

When Genji moves away for another drink, Lúcio curls his fingers around the other man’s fancy silk tie, using that grip to drag Genji back and close the distance between their mouths. Genji inhales through his teeth, responding to Lúcio’s erratic, enthusiastic kiss with a deliberate slowness, as if he has all the time in the world. As if he’d like to spend it doing nothing else but kissing Lúcio. Genji’s good at it, too– knows how to move his tongue, knows what to do with his lips, knows how to keep Lúcio’s senses overwhelmed– hands on his waist, thumbing up the hem of his shirt; the faint scent of cologne.

When Genji pushes a half-cube of ice into Lúcio’s mouth from where he’d had it melting under his tongue, the cold jars any and all thoughts out of Lúcio’s mind, almost burning the inside of his cheek while the rest of him feels feverish.

“You,” Genji says, grinning as he breaks the kiss, “took me by surprise.”

Lúcio crunches down the ice, swallows, mouth working futilely for a second before he manages to form words. “I took _you_ by surprise?”

Genji makes an affirmative sound as he leans in again. Without breaking contact, he braces one hand on the back of the couch and swings his knee around to straddle Lúcio’s hips, the smaller man’s head cocking back as Genji looms over him.

Genji breaks the kiss after a few seconds, lips skewed in an uncomfortable grimace.

Lúcio’s eyes slide from Genji’s face to his neck, then to his own hands– one twisted in the front of Genji’s shirt and the other nearly strangling him with his own tie. “Sorry,” Lúcio pants, unfurling his fingers with difficulty while Genji undoes the impromptu noose around his neck and tosses it aside, one hand deftly unbuttoning his collar. “I didn’t notice,” Lúcio tries to say as Genji settles more comfortably in his lap– most of his weight still on his knees but the insides of his thighs braced against the hard exoshell of Lúcio’s skates.

“It’s fine,” Genji answers, affectionate and amused as he regards Lúcio’s face, mouth set in an easy smile. “It happens,” he says, as if Lúcio should find it reassuring that people apparently try to throttle him on the regular. Or maybe he means lots of people are kissed so well that they end up clutching at his tie for dear life. That’s a distinct possibility, too.

“I shouldn’t find that hot,” Lúcio groans, half-tempted to point out that Genji kind of sounds like a cocky douchebag, “but I actually do.”

Leaning down, Genji’s lips brush the shell of Lúcio’s ear, his voice a low, melodic purr. “Do you want to move somewhere more private?”

 _No one this rich, charming and handsome should be allowed to have a voice so nice_ , Lúcio thinks spitefully. _It’s just not fair to anyone else._

Lúcio shifts, tempted to agree but thinking relatively more clearly now that he’s not being worked over and manipulated like a ball of play-doh. “No,” he manages through clenched teeth, already mentally berating himself as Genji draws back, giving him space, “I don’t wanna do this in the back of a club, sorry. You’re uh– you’re really nice, and _man_ you’re good, but–”

Despite actually kind of trusting Genji against his own instinctive revulsion toward the rich, Lúcio doesn’t know the _place_ and while it’s been known to happen he tries not to make a habit of sleeping with people he’s known for all of two days. How to explain that, though–

“Ah, no,” interrupts Genji before the conversation can get even more strained, “I am sorry for pushing you.” He backs off, stands, hands immediately shoving into his pockets as he turns away (Lúcio silently thanks his prosthesis for sparing him that particular kind of awkwardness), broad shoulders rising and falling with each rapid breath.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Lúcio clarifies as Genji moves for his desk, settling down behind it and placing his hands on its surface while he forces himself to breathe more slowly, “it’s just that– you’re not a stranger anymore, y'know?”

Genji closes his eyes. “I understand, Lúcio.”

“Are you… gonna be okay?”

The speed at which Genji brings his arousal under control could probably qualify as  _superhuman_ if that were the kind of thing superhumans were known for. His clothes are still somewhat disheveled from the wringing Lúcio gave his shirt, but the tension in his shoulders drains quickly and he shakes off the embarrassment of being turned down, schooling his expression into its usual mellow calm. “I can have someone give you a ride back to your hotel,” he offers again, his tone this time around sounding more like a command. “Your crew will be covered for transportation as well, and your equipment will be safe here if you would like to stay longer in Hanamura.”

Lúcio nods, dragging a hand down his face. He’d stand, but his legs have apparently turned to jelly, being made of metal and synthetic muscle notwithstanding. “Yeah,” he says, “I really appreciate that. Thanks.”

“Disregarding what just happened,” Genji continues softly, “if there is something you need while you are in Japan, please feel free to contact me.”

“Or not disregarding what happened,” Lúcio replies with a grin, a shot in the dark, “if you’re interested in that kind of thing, what do you say to dinner tomorrow?”

Mulling that over, Genji gives him a look, expectant, an unmistakably teasing quirk to his lips. “What kind of thing did you think I wouldn’t be interested in? Food?”

Lúcio shakes his head, laughing. “Don’t make me say it, man.”

Genji stands, clears the room in five long strides and stops in front of Lúcio. “Yes,” he says, extending a hand to pull him to his feet. “Let’s have dinner.”

“Alright.” Lúcio keeps his hand clasped around Genji’s, privately wondering at the rough calluses he feels on his palm, and nods. “It’s a date.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

"You picked a good day," Genji says as he greets Lúcio in the hotel lobby, turning and leading him outside to the sleek black sedan parked in front. He opens the passenger side door for Lúcio, but doesn't linger long enough to close it. "Today is Tanabata," Genji explains as he settles into the driver's seat and taps a few buttons on the control panel, "and there is a festival. We can have a proper dinner, but I think you would like it."

"Festival sounds great," answers Lúcio, fingers tapping idly on his knee. He's wearing a pair of well-fitted jeans, obscuring the prosthetic joints of his legs. "Tanabata?"

Nodding, Genji points skyward, tapping his finger against the roof of the car. "It's a holiday based around an old folktale," he explains, setting the vehicle to auto-pilot. "There is a street festival every year in Hanamura, except for when it rains."

Lúcio vaguely takes note of the leather seats, the scent of Genji's cologne permeating the cabin-- a cloying, smoky-sweet scent that clings to the back of his throat. It's not unpleasant, but its presence is exactly like its wearer: impossible to ignore. "What's the story?" he asks, leaning back, the headrest even at its shortest setting still uncomfortably high. 

Genji screws his eyes shut, as if trying to recall the details from a distant memory. His mouth skews sideways into a sheepish smile when he looks at Lúcio again, as if in apology for the delay. "It is about the stars, Altair and Vega." ( _Oh_ , Lúcio thinks, _he was trying to remember the English_.) "In Japan they are known as the deities Hikoboshi and Orihime. Orihime was a weaver, and she would diligently weave cloth every day for her father, the ruler of the heavens."

Lúcio cracks open his tinted window, making a soft sound to show that he's still listening. They're passing a street crowded with stalls, throngs of people milling around. Steam and smoke rise from several tents, the smell of fried food and meat grilled over charcoals flooding the cabin through the opening.

"One day," Genji continues as the car turns and begins a search for a parking spot, "Orihime met a cowherder, Hikoboshi. They fell in love instantly, but her father did not approve. He separated them, putting them on opposite banks of the Milky Way." 

"Douchebag," observes Lúcio. The car pulls into a space. Genji seems to instantly forget the story, which is just as well because Lúcio's attention is on the festival outside anyway.

"We are here," says Genji, opening his door and stepping out. "If you are in town for another festival sometime," he adds, waiting for Lúcio on the sidewalk, "we can attend it properly, in yukata."

His flight out is in a week, no returns to Japan on the horizon, and who knows when the next street festival is? Lúcio grins anyway, bumping Genji with his hip as he bounds past, toward the stalls the next street over. "Next time!"

* * *

Genji catches up to him at the very first tent: goldfish-scooping. Lúcio crouches by the basin, grinning as tiny fish dart through the water, white and orange. He looks up when the owner says something, greeting the newest arrival with a hearty clap to his shoulder. The old man doesn't look intimidated, as many other people have in Genji's presence, and he hands him five little plastic scoops. Genji responds, laughing lightly as he hands four to Lúcio.

He's seen and read about these festivals (mostly online, in retro manga and anime), enough to know that these stalls are definitely not _free_ and that people don't usually just get _five free scoops_ at the goldfish-scooping stall. Looking up at Genji, Lúcio takes the bowl the owner offers him and helplessly raises his tools. "Don't I have to pay?"

That gets a smile, only mildly embarrassed. "This festival is organized by the Shimadagumi," Genji answers, "and I have known most of these stall owners since I was a child."

Lúcio decides not to comment on it, jarred again by the sudden reminder that he's with a yakuza. From what he can glean of the Shimada Group's structure, Genji's very nearly at the top of the food chain, second only to his brother. Watching the same man who'd parted crowds with a simple tilt of his head being teased by a stall owner is almost surreal, but logical enough in retrospect. "So," says Lúcio, as the old man turns away to handle another customer, "he really did just call you Gen-chan."

"Ah... yes."

"That's cute," Lúcio says as Genji crouches next to him, plastic bowls in both their hands. "Gen-chan."

"You don't know me like that yet," Genji snorts.

Lúcio repeats, "Yet."

"Only grannies and grandpas call me that. Do you know how to play this game?"

"Get the fish into the bowl?"

"There is a technique to it. The poi is made of paper, so try to keep it out of the water."

Lúcio ignores him, tip of his tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip as he dips the scoop into the water, chasing after a particularly orange fish. When the paper rips, disintegrating, he makes a soft dismayed sound in the back of his throat. Genji says nothing as Lúcio burns through another one, very obviously trying not to laugh as he eyes the last two scoops. When the younger man finally turns a plaintive look on him, Genji flashes him a smile and shifts closer to the basin, shifting forward on his haunches.

"Don't be too picky," he explains, holding the edge of his bowl close to the surface of the water, a look of calm focus on his face. "Wait for one to come near the surface of the water, then flip it into the bowl."

When Genji brandishes his bright green plastic bowl, a small spotted goldfish wiggling around inside it, Lúcio vaguely notes that he hadn't been looking at Genji's hands at all during the demonstration. The other man seems to know, a smug quirk turning up the corner of his lips. "Show me again," Lúcio insists, smacking his remaining poi agianst Genji's wrist. "Come on!"

"Alright," Genji answers, demonstrating again, "alright." He catches another two fish before his scoop rips, an annoyed hiss escaping through his teeth as he drops the poi into a trashcan and returns his fish to the pool. The owner cracks a joke, winking when Genji practically whines his own response. 

Lúcio squints, blocking out the exchange as he poises with the edge of his scoop over the water. "Wow," he murmurs, flicking his wrist and taking a few practice swipes in the air, "you're like a cat."

"Try it," Genji says, sounding amused. "Have confidence."

It takes him a few tries, but Lúcio finally tips a thrashing silver-white goldfish into his bowl, its tail ripping a hole into the wet paper of his scoop. His last poi nets him one more, orange, before it disintegrates as well. He looks askance at Genji, who motions for him to hand his bowl to the owner. Lúcio's expression lights up as he receives a little plastic bag, tiny fish darting around in it. "I'll call 'em Laranja and Branco," Lúcio says after a second, holding his prize carefully aloft. "Hello hello, it's nice to meet you two."

"Creative," Genji deadpans, in a tone that would be snide if it weren't for the pleased smile on his face. He motions with his head toward the next stall, some sort of food stand, a short line extending in front of it.

Looking up at him, Lúcio puffs out his cheeks and lightly bumps Genji with his hip as they join the queue. "You speak Portuguese?" he asks, recalling suddenly the conversation they'd had in Hanami's lounge. Anyone with a grasp of English could probably guess Justica's meaning-- but unless they knew Spanish as well, would have a hard time guessing the colors.

"My brother and I occasionally do business with Brazilians." Genji makes a noncommittal gesture, indicating that he barely knows the language. "He makes me learn the basics, but anything more complex and I'm lost."

"That sounds like me and Japanese." The brief, calculating expression that crosses Lúcio's face morphs to curiosity almost faster than Genji can process it. Corruption and bribery are commonplace in Brazilian politics and business; dealing with a syndicate as powerful as the Shimada Group is just par for the course. Lúcio hadn't expected the family dealings to hit so close to home, but he briefly pushes it to the background when the line moves forward. "Wait," he gasps, "say something in Portuguese!"

"No," answers Genji, "thank you."

"Do it. Do it."

"No."

"Do it."

Genji sighs, head tilting, his lips quirked in a peculiar mix of exasperation and amusement. "Lúcio," he says. 

Plaintively, Lúcio whines back, "Genjiiiiii."

Relenting, Genji flashes a rakish grin, brushing a stray loc out of Lúcio's face and tucking it gently behind his ear. "Você pode me ensinar a ser charmoso em sua lingua?"

It takes a moment to parse his words, the same accent Genji has in English sounding just as pleasantly soft in Portuguese. His line sounds practiced, but Lúcio would be lying if he said it didn't make his stomach do a weird little flip. "Okay," he snorts, playing it off as they reach the front of the line, "I _know_ you don't say that to Brazilian businessguys, 'cause they'd shoot you in the face."

"You're right." Genji cuts himself off to thank the man who places two skewers and a little cardboard box of takoyaki into his hands, then looks sheepishly away from Lúcio's inquiring stare. "My brother handles the business, and I keep the wives occupied."

"Wives," Lúcio repeats.

Making a 'more or less' gesture with his free hand, Genji wrinkles his nose. "Mistresses."

"I'm gonna take Laranja and Branco," Lúcio declares, fighting back a smile as he pointedly turns on his heel and walks away, "and we're gonna leave this den of sin."

Genji looks after him for a few seconds, laughing out loud when Lúcio turns, as if checking to see whether or not he's decided to follow. "Lúcio," he calls instead, eyes landing on the little plastic bag still in Lúcio's hand, "if you carry the fish with you all day, they will definitely die."

"Oh." Lúcio looks down, gently lifting the plastic bag and looking around. "Oh, yeah. Can I give them back?" he asks, breezing past Genji's attempt to interrupt. "Should I leave them in your car? Are they gonna last that long?" 

When Lúcio stops to take a breath, Genji snatches that moment to cut in. "I can put them in the Shimada estate's koi pond," he offers. The fish he'd caught as a child always ended up in there, carefully acclimated to the temperature before being released. 

"Hey, that sounds nice. Is it close?"

Pointing to the roof of a massive structure rising in the backdrop of the festival, Genji answers, "It's actually right around the corner." He trots up to Lúcio, extending his hand for the fish. "I can go, you enjoy the festival, and we can meet back here."

Lúcio pulls the fish out of reach, holding them closer to his chest as he levels narrowed eyes at Genji. "Nah," he answers, playfully elbowing the other man in the ribs as he falls into step beside him, "I can come with."

They walk in silence until they cross the threshold of the Shimada Estate, Genji growing tense and wary as they clear the rock garden at its entrance. Lúcio looks at him, studies the expression on his face, and finally decides to break the quiet. "So you and the uh, wives and mistresses," he probes, successfully drawing out a grimace at whatever memories the question dredges up, "anything ever happen?"

Genji shrugs, turning his focus on Lúcio and briefly allowing the weight and history of his home to lift from his mind. "Wives and favorite side girls, never." A beat. "The others, sometimes."

"Why?" Lúcio asks, unsure if the smirk on the other man's face means he's lying or just smug, "Figure they'd be down for it."

"Can you imagine if something went wrong," Genji answers, "one of them had a child, and a little Japanese baby popped out?" He grins at the laugh that startles out of Lúcio, then puts on an expression of grave seriousness as they step through an archway and come to a stop near a gazebo. "We would go to war immediately, and my brother would murder me."

"Thinking ahead," Lúcio comments, voice muffled into his fist, hitching as he tries to control his laughter. "You're smarter than you look."

Genji cocks an eyebrow, his smile skewing sideways when Lúcio sticks his tongue out and wrinkles his nose. "Are you saying I don't look smart?"

"Well when you look like you do," he retorts, gesturing at Genji's face, then poking a finger into one hard bicep, "how much do you really have to use your head?" 

Genji takes it for the compliment it is, turning away briefly to hide the flush that crawls up his neck and suffuses his face. "Couldn't I say the same for you?" he says, facing Lúcio again and flashing him a smile, this one genuinely amused. He's been pegged immediately, no stranger to using his looks and his body to achieve results-- whatever method involves the fewest moving parts is generally his favorite, no complex strategies or manipulated chain of events to consider. "Just bat your eyes," he says, "and have the world handed to you on a silver platter."

"Flattering," Lúcio says, "but you know that's not how it works for me."

Genji catches his eye, thoughtfully regarding his face before he tilts his head to the side and says, very quietly, "It works on me."

Lúcio swallows. He opens his mouth and closes it again, momentarily speechless before he laughs it off and moves for the pool of water nearby, ringed by large ornate boulders and flanked with two stone lanterns. He kneels, setting his bag of goldfish into the basin to equalize its temperature. Looking up, he happily accepts the skewer of takoyaki Genji extends to him. "What kinda business do you have out there, anyway?" he asks, popping the snack into his mouth. Muffled: "In Brazil?"

"Construction," answers Genji, his tone deliberately light as he holds his box of takoyaki within Lúcio's reach and waits for him to take another one, "for the Japanese community living abroad."

"Huh. Cool."

Movement across the courtyard catches Genji's attention, an older man dressed in a suit that's even more deliberately casual and expensively tailored than Genji's stepping outside, squinting as the sun hits his face. "Ah," Genji says, fingers brushing Lúcio's shoulder as he draws away, "hold on."

"Yeah," Lúcio calls after him, reaching into his pocket for his phone, "no problem." He pulls up his messenger app, tabbing to a thread labeled with nothing other than a small purple skull. He taps out a question, and hits send.

> hey, can you get into someone's phone for me?

He waits a few seconds, knowing how slow Sombra is to respond sometimes (especially when she's in the middle of a particularly complex hack) but this time her reply comes almost immediately. Of course, Lúcio's pretty sure that his request piques her interest more than whatever else she could be doing; he almost never asks her for favors when she usually pre-empts him with freely-volunteered information. 

> if u get close enough for long enough i cn do ANYTHING

Lúcio scratches his chin, thumb rubbing idly across the neatly-trimmed patch of goatee. Getting close enough to Genji's phone, and keeping him occupied long enough that he won't check it while Sombra cracks it? He comes up with several ways to achieve that, none of them particularly dangerous or difficult. He frowns, tapping out a quick reply as Genji and Hanzo both turn briefly to look at him.

> in a couple hours, ok?

> sure. who is it?

> genji shimada  
> don't do anything crazy, i just wanna know what his family's up to in brazil  
> it's probably nothing

There's a long silence, then:

> no mames...............  
> the shimadas r pretty serious, friend

> yeah...

> just open my app when u need me

> got it  
> you're the best!

On his way to greet his brother, Genji pops one of the four remaining takoyaki into his mouth. He's still chewing as he approaches, cheerfully turning his shoulder to let Hanzo bump it with his own. 「Yo,」 he says at last, making a grab for the tablet under Hanzo's arm and huffing when it's pulled out of reach.

「You were at the Tanabata street fair?」

「I was showing Lúcio around.」 Before Hanzo can comment, Genji spears a takoyaki and extends it to him. 「Here,」 he says, 「have one.」

Hanzo takes it, pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a few long seconds before Genji reclaims his skewer and uses it to push another ball around in sauce pooling at the bottom of the clear plastic container. 「Did Kawada-san change the recipe?」 he asks, brows rising slightly in surprise. There was never _corn_ in the takoyaki before, and they've been eating at this particular stall since they were children, still small enough to take turns sittng on their father's shoulders to watch the fireworks. The change isn't necessarily unpleasant, but Hanzo idly pushes away a pang of nostalgia.

「It tastes different, doesn't it? But it's good.」 Genji picks up another and moves it ominously toward his brother's face until Hanzo obligingly opens his mouth and eats it before sauce drips all over his beard and clothing. Nose wrinkling at the tired expression on Hanzo's face, Genji taps him on the chest. 「Did you have lunch?」

「Not yet.」

「Have the last one too,」 Genji insists, hurriedly forcing him to down another takoyaki. That done, he folds his used skewer into the empty box and cants his head toward Lúcio, flashing Hanzo a mischievous smile. 「And come say hi,」 he adds, hooking one finger into the lapel of Hanzo's jacket and pulling him forward, 「don't be rude.」

After he heaves a long-suffering sigh just to show Genji exactly what he thinks of his plan, he follows. 「I don't,」 Hanzo retorts, 「need to hear that from you.」

Lúcio tucks his phone away as the two draw up to him, hopping to his feet. "Hi," he says, brushing off the seat of his pants as Hanzo regards him.

"Have you met?" asks Genji, looking pleased as Lúcio extends a hand. "My brother."

Hanzo takes it, giving a firm shake and a slow nod. "I never did get to thank you for playing at our venue," he says, sharp eyes sizing Lúcio up with an intensity that sends chills down his spine. The smile he flashes at last looks more practiced than sincere, but it doesn't set off any alarms, for the moment. "You were excellent."

There's something about seeing Genji side by side with his brother that takes Lúcio out of whatever comfort being around the younger Shimada had put him in. They couldn't be more different on the surface but their bearing, their easy rapport, uncompromising set of their shoulders-- that's identical. Every rich man's confidence that the world will bend to their wishes oozes out of their pores. "Thanks!" Lúcio answers, pounding his chest with a fist. "And I really appreciate your generous donation to a cause that's really close to my heart."

Hanzo nods, looking briefly into the fishpond before he regards Lúcio again. "I hope you enjoy your time in Hanamura."

"Oh, you know I will."

"Genji," Hanzo says next, turning to his brother, "what are you doing with those?"

"Ah... Lúcio caught them at kingyo-sukui." Genji flashes a proud smile, clearly trying to emphasize the fact that he was the one who'd given the primer. "I was going to put them in the koi pond, like we used to." He opens his mouth, reconsiders telling Hanzo their names, and closes it again, fixing a look of curiosity on his brother.

Expression softening, Hanzo raises one skeptical brow and cants his head toward the building. "None of those survived," he says, breezing past the wounded shock on Genji's face, "put them in Gin-san's tank."

He'd always known on some level that the likelihood of summer festival goldfish surviving in a pond full of massive koi was vanishingly small, but Hanzo had never confirmed it before. Pushing that aside, Genji flashes his brother a curious look, recalling the silver-white fish that had been a staple of his childhood, making its slow rounds in a clear glass aquarium set in the wall of their father's office. 「Did Gin-san die?」

「This morning.」

「That fish was older than you,」 Genji murmurs, 「I thought it would outlive both of us.」

Hanzo gives him a meaningful look, then claps him on the shoulder. 「It's time to build our own legacy,」 he says, stepping back inside.

Lúcio tugs on Genji's sleeve, pulling his attention back. "Is Gin-san a fish?"

"Our father's." Without waiting for Lúcio, Genji crouches by the pond and extracts the bag. "He used to tell us that he had caught it himself as a child during a street fair."

"How long ago was that?"

"Longer than the lifespan of any goldfish I have ever known."

* * *

After releasing Lúcio's fish into their new home, the two return to the festival. Genji doesn't pay for a single thing, snacks shoved into his hands at every stall. The Shimadas' deeply obvious protection racket aside, the owners seem to genuinely like him. It's hard not to be drawn to that genial charisma, taken in by honest questions about relatives, hospitalized parents, old classmates and friends. Regardless of how _real_ Genji's concern seems to be, Lúcio throws up a mental wall. 

Brick by brick: just because he cares for other Japanese businessmen who generate a profit for the family doesn't mean he holds the poor in Rio's slums in the same regard; the Shimadas deal in racketeering, blackmail, arms trafficking; Genji is rich-- actively complicit at worst and at best happily oblivious to the global reach of the Shimada Group while reaping the benefits. Lúcio absently acknowledges his bone-deep attraction toward the other man and slots the final brick into place as Genji hands him a taiyaki: enjoy this while it lasts, because it'll all come crashing down soon enough.

Genji drops him off at the hotel after the Tanabata fireworks, walking him into the lobby after handing his keys off to the valet outside. They pause in front of the elevator to the VIP suite and meet eyes, Lúcio's arms crossing over his chest as Genji presses a button to summon his lift. 

"Wait," Lúcio says, "you never finished the story."

"Orihime and Hikoboshi," Genji rattles off without hesitation, "were only allowed to meet once a year, on the day we celebrate as Tanabata. Orihime would cry so much that a flock of magpies would appear, forming a bridge across the Amanogawa so they could meet." The imagery alone reminds Lúcio of retro animated films, imported from Japan to Brazil. He looks on silently as Genji finishes: "On days it rains, the magpies wouldn't come, and so they would have to wait another year."

"Well at least it didn't rain today."

"I hope you had as much fun as I did."

Lúcio inhales through his teeth, the taste of the festival still lingering in his mouth. All the vocabulary he'd picked up is food. Okonomiyaki, takoyaki, ikayaki, taiyaki, yakisoba, karaage. He'd eaten his fill of candied strawberries and cotton candy. He'd dragged Genji through the entire festival, flitting from stall to stall-- every attempt to pay was waved off, though he never stopped trying to offer. 

_Enjoy this while it lasts._

"You wanna come up?" Lúcio asks, stepping into the elevator. He jams one foot into the door to keep it from shutting and grins. "Night's still young."

Genji's expression changes, the harmlessly friendly look he'd worn all day sharpens into a focused calm. "If you are all right with it," he says, voice pitched low and quiet, lip curling to bare a sliver of bright white teeth.

Lúcio checks the time on his phone, flicking to a screen and tapping a purple skull icon before he dims the device and stuffs it back into his pocket. "Wouldn't ask if I wasn't."

He backs into the elevator as Genji advances, allowing the door to shut behind. They stumble into his suite half a minute later, Genji's fingers hooked into a belt loop of his jeans and the other hand splayed at the base of his skull, thumb kneading idly into the taut muscle there as they kiss. Lúcio curls both arms around a solid neck, bracing himself as Genji's hand slides down his thigh and hooks behind one knee, hitching it up to his hip. His other leg follows, ankles crossing to form a vice grip around the lean muscular waist. 

Genji laughs softly as Lúcio pushes his blazer off his shoulders (clinging as he first frees one arm and then the other), material sliding to the floor with a muffled clatter, his phone tucked in an inner pocket. Lúcio undoes the fastenings of his jeans next, shoving them down until Genji sets him on his feet to remove them entirely, taking that brief moment to undo his own tie. Lúcio toes his pants aside, landing them right next to the jacket.

"Wow," Lúcio breathes, standing back as Genji removes his shirt, the edges of a tattoo curving over his shoulders and winding down his arm. The ink disappears into a jagged cluster of burn scars by his elbow, and another on the side of his neck. Smiling mildly, Genji spreads his arms and turns, muscles flexing as he shows off the intricate emblem on his back and Lúcio sucks a breath in through his teeth. "How long did that take?"

"Not long," Genji answers as he spins on his heel and draws close again, turning Lúcio physically in place and walking him toward the bed until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he sits. Genji braces one leg beside his hip, kissing him until Lúcio places both hands on his shoulders and leans back, dragging Genji after.

* * *

"I'm," Lúcio murmurs, near midnight, "kinda hungry." He nestles further into the blankets, breathing in the scent of Genji's skin and the sweet hotel-provided soap they'd showered with. Whatever heady cologne he'd worn in the day has been completely washed away, and Lúcio notes with vague alarm that he likes the smell of the man himself better.

Genji turns his head, pressing his lips to Lúcio's temple and mumbling softly against it, "I texted room service while you changed."

Of course he did; Genji didn't even bother to put on clothes before he crawled back into bed. It's not quite 'I cooked for you,' but Lúcio finds himself touched, all the same. "What'd you get?"

"Ramen," Genji answers sleepily. "There are not many places open so late."

"I didn't know you can text room service to get takeout for you."

A huff. "I can," Genji sighs, hand curling over the ball of Lúcio's shoulder and pulling him closer, "I don't know about anyone else."

He probably doesn't mean to flaunt his wealth and power but Lúcio tenses all the same, silently berating himself for being caught off-guard again at the realization that his bedmate is part of a massive criminal organization. Genji notices, grip loosening as Lúcio rearranges himself more comfortably against his side. No point in ruining the mood now-- Sombra's hack should be finished, food is incoming and Genji is warm, pulse beating slow and steady under Lúcio's ear. He can almost imagine that the Shimadas' business in Rio stops at contributing to the gradual, creeping gentrification that's been happening for decades and doesn't extend to anything even more insidious.

When someone knocks on the door, Lúcio startles out of the sleepy haze he'd fallen into, untangling himself from Genji to allow him to his feet. He only has a few seconds to appreciate a full view of Genji's back before the other man picks a yukata off a hook by the door and pulls it on. A woman hands him two bags when he answers the door, cheerfully asking if he needs anything else before she's dismissed. Genji brandishes one bag with a Rikimaru Ramen logo on it, and the other a nondescript tote with a fresh change of clothes in it.

"I take it," says Lúcio, amused as he watches Genji shed his yukata and pull on a pair of calf-length sweatpants, "that you do this a lot." 

"I keep a change of clothes in Hanzo's office," Genji answers, smiling when Lúcio gives him a curious look. 

"Your brother's office?"

"Mine is in the club but I ah, often spend time here." Genji moves to a small table next, pulling out the components of two portions of ramen, all packaged separately. Even the bowls are included, probably provided by the hotel staff. He adds the soup, noodles, scallions, two halves of a medium-boiled egg and slices of braised pork into each bowl and turns to Lúcio, looking very satisfied with himself. "Before it gets cold," he says, extending a pair of chopsticks as Lúcio approaches.

"I thought Rikimaru didn't do takeout," Lúcio muses, taking the chopsticks and settling at the table across from Genji. The steam wafting out of the bowls is rich and meaty, Lúcio's stomach grumbling in anticipation.

"They don't." Genji sheepishly ducks his head, slurping down a mouthful of noodles before he looks back up when Lúcio doesn't follow suit. "They are sometimes willing to for loyal customers," he continues, sounding less evasive than mildly ashamed of his ramen-heavy diet. "I go several times a week, and the owner knows me."

Muffling his laugh into a fist, Lúcio grins across the table and digs in. Genji finishes first, standing to fetch a drink from the mini refrigerator that Lúcio had left pointedly untouched. He swipes his own card and returns to the table with two bottles of water just as Lúcio picks up his bowl, tips his head back and drinks all the soup. 

"There were more noodles," Genji tells him, belatedly, "if you are still hungry."

He's still hungry. How that's possible after an evening of nothing but sweets and fried food Lúcio has no idea, but he's always been able to eat far more than someone his size should logically be able to. "More?"

Genji lightly pushes his own bowl across the table, his soup almost untouched. He takes another plastic container out of the bag and pours a ball of cooked noodles into it, then offers him another half of a boiled egg. "If you are at a ramen-ya," he explains, watching Lúcio inhale the noodles, "you can ask for a kaedama. At Rikimaru, you can get one for free if you namedrop me."

Lúcio pauses for a second, cheeks stuffed with noodles. He accepts the bottle of water Genji had opened for him without prompting, washes down his mouthful of ramen, and licks broth off his lips. "Good to know," he answers, smiling at Genji's open, amused expression. After a moment he wipes his mouth and yawns into the napkin, stomach full and muscles pleasantly sore. The room's lighting dims with a single snap of Genji's fingers and he stands, stacking empty plastic containers and gathering their utensils.

"I should let you sleep now," Genji murmurs, checking his phone. "Someone will be in to clear these away."

"You got somewhere to be?" asks Lúcio, pushing aside the thought that sooner or later he'll know exactly what it is about Genji that makes him uneasy, other than the obvious. For now he gives in to the sense of safety that washes over him, the other man's warmth and confidence allowing him to relax in a way that he hasn't been able to for a long time with anyone else.

"I should go home."

Lúcio leans forward, resting his chin on the heel of his palm. "Wanna stay?"

Genji hesitates. He's pretty sure there won't be much other activity for the night, and he rarely makes a habit of staying until morning. There's usually no reason to, no comfort in sleeping ( _just_ sleeping) with a stranger when nothing else can or will come of it. But he looks at Lúcio, the sleepy question on his face as his heel taps absently against the carpeted floor. "I can," he answers, voice soft.

"Stay," Lúcio says, firm, no expectation of being declined. 

Almost a command to a man who has never been commanded in his adult life. Begged, asked, politely requested, sure-- but not even Hanzo gives him orders and expects them to be unilaterally followed.

"All right," Genji says, easy, extending a hand to pull Lúcio to his feet.

* * *

Genji's phone buzzes with a message at entirely-too-early o'clock. He sits up, swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stays there while he taps out a reply, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Lúcio's eyes crack open, attuned to the sound of his movements, and he regards the tattoo on Genji's back while the other man is occupied. He reaches, fingertip brushing the green ink of a serpentine dragon's tail. He's sure he's imagining it, but a prickle of warmth floods from his hand to the rest of his body, Genji looking over his shoulder and flashing a smile.

"Like what you see?" Genji asks, turning and lifting the corner of the blanket to join him under the covers again.

"You know I do," Lúcio shoots back, grinning as Genji curls around him, one thick arm sliding carefully under his pillow and the other slinging around his waist. He laughs when a kiss lands on his collar, then his neck, the line of his jaw. "I like this too," he quips, "if you feel like you wanna keep going indefinitely."

"Good morning to you as well," Genji snickers, "but I have work to do."

Lúcio shifts, the crown of his head fitting unnervingly well under the curve of Genji's jaw. "What was that about?" he mumbles, fingers stroking along the defined planes of the other man's abdominal muscles. They flex under his touch, vividly calling to Lúcio's mind the memory of Genji's body pulled taut under his thighs, callused hands traveling with an attentive leisure over every inch of skin within reach. 

He pushes the thought away before it can escalate, muffling a yawn into Genji's inked shoulder. _Too early._

"My brother needs me to attend a meeting in Kagoshima this afternoon." Genji's hand slides up his back, under the hem of his shirt to splay between his shoulder blades, thumb pressing into a tense knot of muscle by his spine. "I will be there for three days."

That's almost as long as they've known each other and Lúcio's painfully aware of how irrational it is to feel a sense of loss at the news: there was no guarantee in the first place that they would've spent that time together and nothing will change the fact that Genji's a Shimada. Still, he frowns. "I won't get to see you for three days?" he sighs, not bothering to hide the dismay in his voice.

"I was thinking," says Genji, "that you could come with me if you have no other appointments. Kagoshima has beautiful beaches, among other things."

Lúcio hadn't made any solid plans for his time in Japan so he looks up, nose bumping Genji's chin. "When?" And more importantly, "How would we get there?"

"Now." Genji laughs at the shocked sound Lúcio makes, hand moving down his back and pulling him closer. "We can take the train. I will have to return home to pack and book tickets, but we should be on the way within an hour."

The idea that Genji is moving this along way too fast briefly crosses Lúcio's mind, but he's in Japan for the first time, and someone just offered to show him more of it before he has to leave. That he's going on vacation with a man who had until three days ago been a total stranger _should_ unnerve him but it doesn't. "Yeah," he says, squirming out of Genji's grip and rolling out of bed to get dressed. "Let's do it."

* * *

Hanzo wanders into Genji's room just as he finishes packing, three days' worth of clothes neatly kept in a small carry-on sized suitcase. He crosses his arms over his chest as Genji makes one final round through his room. 「You didn't come home last night,」 he says, watching his brother snatch up wallet and phone, a pen, and a laptop case.

Genji straightens at last, scratching the back of his neck before he finally looks at Hanzo. 「I was at the hotel,」 he answers, giving him a meaningful look. 

「I know. Don't you think you should be more discreet?」

「Who in Hanamura would be stupid enough to sell this story?」

Hanzo concedes the point, shaking his head. He can see when Genji has no intention of listening to a single word he says, but he'll at least take the family business seriously. 「Did you read the primer?」

「Last week.」

「You just need to make contact.」 Hanzo bars the door before Genji can step past him, the younger Shimada heaving a bored sigh as he falls back, eyes scanning the room for some sort of escape from this potential lecture. 「Give a good impression.」

「My specialty,」 Genji deadpans.

「I'm serious, Genji. They're unpredictable.」

「The Kawaguchi group isn't a threat.」 With nothing else to do with his hands, Genji adjusts his tie, then shifts the strap of his bag from one shoulder to the other. 「Do we have people posted there?」

「They'll be around the perimeter ready to back you up.」 Hanzo sighs, rubbing his hand over his beard as he looks at Genji again. 「Are you sure you don't want me--」

「Please,」 Genji interrupts, 「I'm taking Lúcio, and we don't need a third wheel.」 He gives Hanzo a look, one that clearly says _I am being very patient right now_ , and pats him reassuring on the shoulder. Drawing close enough to bump him on the arm, he laughs as Hanzo leans tiredly against him. 「You get some rest. Sakamoto will pick up ramen for you if you ask nicely.」

Hanzo's brows pull together. The idea of ramen for lunch sounds fine, but the first part of his sentence catches up somewhat belatedly. 「You're going on vacation with him?」 he asks, incredulous. 「You've known him for three days.」

「And he leaves in seven.」 This song and dance is always significantly more entertaining for Genji, and he shrugs. 「It's just for fun, like a school trip.」

「And we're just not going to mention the fights you got into for messing around with other people's girlfriends on those trips?」 Hanzo scoffs as Genji finally nudges him aside, dragging his luggage after.

「He's single, I think.」 Genji says, flippant as ever. He walks backwards to face Hanzo as they make their way down the corridor to the main hall, then out toward the gate. 「Besides, I won those.」

「That's why you asked Yamada to make you extra bento.」

「It's a long trip.」

A car pulls up, the driver-side window rolling down as a bodyguard motions for Genji to board. In the passenger's seat, the aforementioned bento sits in a stack, carefully bundled in a patterned cloth. Hanzo eyes the package, then turns a resigned look on his brother. 「You could've chartered a flight.」

「I like trains.」

「Be safe, Genji. Call me when you've arrived.」

「I'll forget,」 Genji shoots back as he slides into the car. Before he closes the door, he extends a fist, grinning as Hanzo bumps it with his own. 

「I know.」

「Don't worry, brother, if something goes wrong you'll definitely hear from me.」

* * *

Lúcio's equipped his skates, packed his prostheses and his clothes for the trip when his phone finally pings him with a message. He's still alone in the suite, waiting on Genji, so the purple skull icon flashing in his notifications doesn't put him on edge.

> well 

There's a long pause, Sombra typing and deleting several times before she finally sends:

> he wasn't lying abt the construction

Lúcio slides backward toward the bed, sitting on it to tap out his reply.

> im guessing the issue isnt gentrification here

The next few messages come quickly, Sombra evidently not so hesitant to shatter whatever illusions he might have about Genji anymore.

> cartel arms warehouses, papi  
> supplies for yakuza doing business with local pols  
> doing business with narcos  
> stopovers while they pass through brazil  
> got the map

> damn

> i kno

Lúcio drops his phone to the mattress and inhales deeply, holding the breath until he works up the nerve to pick it back up. Sombra waits, the silence from her end almost entirely for his benefit, allowing him process for a few seconds before he drags his hand down his face and tries to remember where all the moving pieces of his revolution have retreated to.

> did i mention that he's really cute?

> jaja  
> he any good in bed

Lúcio squints at his screen, then glances around the room for any bugs, cameras, anything Sombra could have potentially hacked. He doesn't doubt that there _are_ recording devices, but Genji would probably have disabled them beforehand. 

Probably.

> what  
> were you watching  
> are there bugs in here??

> didnt find any  
> what else would u 2 b doing in the vip suite of hanamura's biggest hotel  
> mariokart????

That gets a laugh, Lúcio shaking his head as his heel taps against the ground. 

> ok fair  
> but yeah omg

> k lástima ):

Lúcio breathes out, a calm settling over him as he pulls up the map Sombra attached and scans a familiar landscape, three construction projects highlighted in red.

> i have some people on standby in the area  
> can you get them the security plans?

> u know i can

> i'll send their contact info

> ya lo tengo

> that still freaks me out, just so you know  
> thanks again by the way

> :^)  
> anytime  
> u know yr my fave

When he shuts down the app, his phone rings. Lúcio picks up, holding the device between his ear and shoulder as he swipes up his duffle bag and heads for the elevator. "Hello hello," he says in greeting, voice in cheerful opposition to the cold weight in the pit of his stomach. 

"I'm here," Genji says, "would you like me to come up?"

"Nah," answers Lúcio, "I'm heading down right now."


	3. Chapter 3

Reservations aside, Lúcio can't help smiling when Genji greets him in the lobby. He smells the other man almost before he sees him, that cologne he'd worn a day ago back in force; just strong enough to be detected from a distance, subtle enough not to be overpowering up close. That Lúcio's already come to associate Genji with this particular scent is probably intentional, though he's sure that most people don't also link it to the sights and sounds of a summer street festival, a light hand on their back, the huff of a laugh against the side of their neck.

Lúcio falls into step beside him as they leave the hotel and clamber into the back seat of a now-familiar car. Genji doesn't initiate any kind of conversation so Lúcio stays quiet as well, fiddling with his phone for the fifteen-minute ride to the bullet train terminal. 

They've boarded, stashed their luggage and sat down before Genji finally sighs, kicking back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. "If you are hungry," he says, "I have breakfast and lunch for both of us."

"Two meals?" asks Lúcio, looking curiously at the stack of bento Genji had left on the floor between their seats. 

"Four hour trip," Genji tells him, "and I don't believe either of us have eaten."

"Breakfast sounds good."

Genji immediately pulls four containers from the package at their feet: two serving-sized thermoses of steaming-hot miso soup, and two traditional-looking lacquered bento boxes. He passes one to Lúcio, keeping one for himself, and methodically opens the container while Lúcio looks on with an expression of confused amusement on his face: He barely remembers to eat sometimes, but in the three days they've known each other Genji hasn't yet allowed him to be hungry. 

A waft of steam rises from his bento when Lúcio finally follows suit and opens the box to reveal three neat compartments-- rice in one, pickled vegetables in another, a lemon slice and fillet of grilled fish in the last. It's identical to Genji's, simple and austere. The smell makes his stomach growl and Genji passes over a pair of disposable chopsticks before he claps his hands together and politely murmurs _Itadakimasu_ to himself.

"Itadakimasu," Lúcio echoes, digging in.

* * *

A four-hour ride later, Lúcio steps off the train, laughing when a wall of hot, humid air slams into him. "Oof," he says, shaking his arms as a sheen of sweat almost immediately collects on his bare shoulders, "feels like home."

Genji, in a blue linen suit, immediately loosens his tie and undoes the first button of his shirt. He seems to consider for a second, then unbuttons the next one as well. "Let's call a cab," he says, nose wrinkling. He grimaces when Lúcio looks at him, brows raising. 

"Isn't the hotel five blocks away?" Lúcio asks, starting forward at a brisk pace. 

Genji jogs to keep up, easily falling into step next to him. "In this weather?" 

It sounds like a complaint but Lúcio notes privately that Genji doesn't seem any more susceptible to the heat than himself, not breaking a sweat even from the exertion of keeping up with a man gliding smoothly forward on hard-light skates. If those muscles aren't just for show, he's probably used to a lot more action than he gets around Lúcio, the heat and humidity notwithstanding. "You big baby," Lúcio comments anyway, teasing him relentlessly as they walk.

They're only half a block away from the hotel when Genji's good humor finally gives out and he tugs on the collar of his shirt, fanning it against his neck to cool down. "Just wait until you visit Japan in winter," he says, bumping Lúcio's shoulder lightly with his own.

Winter in Japan sounds nice; it'd be fun to visit a shrine and make wishes for the new year, down a cup of hot amazake with a friend. Lúcio's read about it, but he didn't think he'd ever be in a position to try it out. "That in the books?" he says, looking up at Genji, who smiles back.

"If you like, I can arrange for you to stay in Hanamura again."

_It'll all come crashing down soon enough._

Lúcio grins. "I'll let you know," he says, shouldering open the glass door into the hotel. The air conditioning raises goosebumps on his arms but Genji breathes a sigh of relief. "See? That wasn't so bad."

Genji leaves him with a quick word to check in, speaking with the woman behind the lobby counter and returning with two cardkeys. "It isn't the presidential suite," he says, heading for the elevator with Lúcio in tow, "but I thought you might like to stay in a traditional room, if you haven't already seen one."

"I haven't!"

Genji passes him the spare key. "Good."

They take the lift to one of the top floors, stepping into a modern-looking hallway. Genji leads them down another corridor, then slides his key across the card reader embedded by the door at the end of the hall. When he opens the door, toeing off his shoes in the entrance, Lúcio whistles. "Whoa," he says, taking in the tatami-lined floors, the single low table in the center of the room, the sliding paper door leading out onto a short balcony, "did we go back in time?"

Genji turns, in the middle of shrugging out of his jacket, his button-down and his undershirt before he dives into his suitcase for a t-shirt. "My room in Hanamura is in this style as well."

"Where do we sleep?" asks Lúcio, lingering in the entrance while he considers his skates, lightly tapping the edge of the tatami with the blade of one. "Do I have to take these off?"

"Leave them on. I will handle any damages." Genji pulls his blazer back on, no longer suffering under three layers of clothing but appropriately dressed for the climate. "There are futon in the closet," he continues, gesturing. "You can pull them out now, if you're tired. Otherwise, the housekeeping staff will lay them out while we eat dinner."

Lúcio sits on the tatami as he shimmies out of the exoshell of his skates and Genji passes him his bag. The offer to cover any damage hard light might do on straw mats is sweet, but Lúcio finds his appreciation somewhat tempered by irritation. Of course someone with his money could make a little problem like that just go away.

"Lúcio," Genji says when he gets no response, "is everything all right?"

"When's dinner?" he asks, shaking it off and fitting his legs into place. Having a timetable for the rest of the day would be pretty crucial to communicating with his crew back home-- especially considering how many people are going without sleep to kick off this particular operation. 

"At eight." Genji checks his watch, then heads for the door and sits next to Lúcio to slip on his shoes. "In the meantime, I have a meeting to attend. Feel free to make yourself comfortable here or to explore the neighborhood."

"Yeah, I'll see you soon!"

* * *

Lúcio sets up in a cyber cafe three blocks away from the hotel, booking a secluded room for several hours. He has a mug of coffee in front of him, a maccha crepe cake beside it, half eaten, and a dummy feed streaming into the security camera before he finally cracks his knuckles and gets to work. "Hello hello," he says, grinning at the face that pops up on his laptop screen. He switches to Portuguese, tapping twice on the eye of the camera. ―How's the weather back home?― 

―Same as ever, brother.― A tired grin. ―How's Japan?―

Lúcio rests his chin on his knuckles, eyes narrowing at the man on the other side of the video. ―Food's good. Think you'd like it, Taka.―

―You meet any cute girls out there?― Taka winks, pointing both index fingers at Lúcio and rubbing them against each other. He grins when Lúcio laughs, leaning away from the screen.

―Cute guy.―

―Yeah? He any good?―

―Honestly? Not bad. Just having fun for a while before I leave, though.― He smiles, expression soft. ―You get any sleep?―

―I'll get a better sleep knowing what these guys are gonna wake up to.―

Lúcio lets the evasiveness of that response slide, digging into his backpack for his headset. He glances back as his fingers close around it, carefully extracting the visor and earpiece. ―How're the girls?―

―Missing their Uncle Lúcio,― Taka promptly answers, eyes rolling toward his ceiling. 

At their age 'missing' usually means 'talking nonstop about' and Lúcio laughs, sympathetic. ―Aww, tell 'em I said hey.―

―They're not the only ones.― He lets a silence stand for a beat, then leans toward the camera. ―When you coming home, Lúcio?―

―Not for a while,― Lúcio says easily. ―When you coming on tour?―

―I dunno, man. Not anytime soon.―

―Sorry.―

Taka flashes him a crooked smile, shaking his head. ―Not your fault.―

―Well, I mean.―

―Okay, totally your fault.―

―Ha ha.― Pushing away a pang of nostalgia as he glimpses the familiar interior of a basement he and his crew had commandeered as their base of operations, Lúcio drums his finger lightly against the spacebar of his computer. ―Everyone's there?―

―Yeah. I'll patch you in.―

The feeds from seven cameras pop up on his screen, each one displaying video from approximately eye-level. He'd custom-fitted headsets for everyone on the team before the hit on Vishkar, every move against the company carefully planned and executed. ―Everyone who can hear me,― he says, ―throw up a peace sign.― He gets five V-signs, one hand-heart and one no response until he toggles a switch and repeats the request. ―Nice. Watch each others' backs.―

―Always do.―

Lúcio absently registers Sombra's presence in his system, her little skull icon blinking in a corner of his screen. Her cooperation's been instrumental for years now, from the initial contact (a deeply suspicious 'so i hear yr gonna bring down vishkar, let me help') to whatever shady friendship they have now. He's still never seen her face or heard her voice, but he does know that he can trust her to help him undermine companies trying to exploit his people-- she'd done the same, at one point. 

> he got this 2gether fast

> taka's my guy back home, the crew respects him  
> if you need an operation to go down and can't get to me, he's the one

> hes got kids

> yeah, i told him to get everyone together and stay out but  
> kkkkkkkk we're brazilian 

> ill watch his back 4 u ;^)

Lúcio laughs, deciding not to send her the first thought that comes to mind. He glances back at the camera feeds, all of them now in night-vision mode as they leave base and navigate out of the narrow, uneven streets of his favela. Four of them pile into a car and the other two mount motocycles, splitting up as they move toward three new construction sites in the city. It'll be a while before they reach their destination, so Lúcio tabs back to the chat window.

> you bored lately tho??

> qué

> you never have this much time to uh, stalk me

> layin low 4 a bit

> who'd you piss off

> eh no one important  
> en fin  
> i won't distract u

> well it's good having you around

* * *

As far as undermining major corporations go, Shimada security on their construction sites is woefully unequipped to deal with Lúcio's crew. He stays online until everyone's returned to base and given a debriefing. By the time he checks his phone for any missed calls or unread messages, it's a quarter to eight and Genji's been totally silent. That's probably not unusual but Lúcio packs his equipment, pays for the booth and walks back to the hotel at a brisk pace.

He's somewhat relieved to see Genji's shoes on the shelf just inside their room, his clothes flung across the floor. A sword lying across the low table in the middle of the space gives him pause, but Lúcio toes off his own sneakers and enters. The bathroom light is on, Genji's back facing the door as he leans toward the mirror above the sink. He's put on the hotel-provided yukata, sleeves rolled up to his shoulders and neatly held in place with a long strip of fabric crossing behind his back.

"I'm back," Lúcio calls, startling when Genji turns, a purpling bruise along the orbit of his left eye.

"Welcome back," he answers, a wry grin on his face.

Irritation wars with concern for a second before worry wins out and Lúcio darts forward, stopping right in front of Genji as he hooks one hand behind the taller man's neck and drags him down for a closer look at the black eye. "Are you alright?"

Genji ducks away, smoothly putting a comfortable distance between them. "It's not serious."

"You're hurt," Lúcio insists. "Let me see it."

"It's nothing."

Lúcio catches and holds his gaze until Genji has to look away. He finally gives in when Lúcio takes him by the wrist, pulls him to the table in the center of the room and tries to make him sit on it, so his face would be within reach. Rather than complying directly Genji reluctantly folds his legs under himself and sits, turning his head to allow Lúcio to inspect his wound. 

As Lúcio applies gentle pressure to the bruise, Genji winces, lip curling slightly but body held determinedly still. When he finally looks up, expression weary and distant, he murmurs, "You're not going to ask?"

Lúcio steps away, ducking briefly into the bathroom to grab a towel and then to a miniature refrigerator hidden in the closet compartment under their folded futon for some ice. "I don't think," he says, brows furrowed as he packs the ice into his washcloth and hands it to Genji, "there's anything I could do even if you told me."

"No," Genji agrees, gingerly pressing the compress to his eye, "there is not."

"Is it gonna be dangerous for you to be here?"

"Not particularly." Genji watches Lúcio dig through his bag for a pair of earbuds, waiting patiently for the other man to come back and slot them into his ears. "I was briefly involved with someone who was already taken," he explains, sounding more resigned than anything else, "and her... other half was part of the Kawaguchi Group. He hit me from the side, but I ended the fight before it could escalate."

Unsure whether he should be exasperated or sympathetic, Lúcio tabs through his music list and chooses a track that he knows is particularly effective for things like orbital fractures. "Boyfriend?"

"Fiancee."

That nets Genji a flat stare. "Did you know."

Genji hisses through his teeth as the music begins to work, teeth clenched against the sting of recovery around his eye socket. He pulls away the icepack when Lúcio gestures for it, closing his eyes when Lúcio's thumb brushes across the ridge of his brow and he leans almost imperceptibly into the touch. "It wasn't a concern to me at the time."

Lúcio tries not to think too hard about what Genji means by that, and pretty much everything else he's said through the conversation. He's been vague since they met and hasn't pried into Lúcio's business, either. Regarding the faded discoloring on his face, Lúcio sighs and presses the icepack back over his eye for the last few seconds of healing. "Consequences, man."

"I know, I know."

* * *

Lúcio's heel taps lightly against the leg of his chair all through dinner, exactly 200 BPM for the entire time he and Genji work through their kaiseki. Genji doesn't comment on it, only giving him the occasional curious look. Every time he checks his phone, Lúcio braces for the other man to cut the trip short and book it back to Hanamura, some sudden pressing family business to attend to. 

Whatever easy conversation they'd had the night of his concert doesn't come back, Lúcio not in any mood to talk and Genji sleepily chipping away at his food. 

Rejuvenescência taxes a body's systems, pushing it to accelerate healing-- Genji'd insisted on being on time for dinner so Lúcio didn't pressure him to rest instead, though he's beginning to wonder if he should have. Their dinner takes well over an hour, each dish artfully arranged, carefully cooked, ingredients plated with a delicate hand. Lúcio picks apart each dish before he finally eats, Genji watching him in amused silence every time his eyes widen at some particularly creative execution.

"Are you," Genji begins-- then pauses. At Lúcio's curious look, he waves him off, gesturing for him to continue eating. 

"Am I what?" he asks instead.

Genji shifts, leaning back slightly in his seat as his foot brushes Lúcio's ankle under the table, a light tap against cold aluminum. "Are you all right?"

"Mm, yeah. Why?"

"I am sorry," he says softly, thumbing at the ridge of bone by his eye, "about earlier. That wasn't something you should have seen."

Taking a slow sip of tea, Lúcio frowns behind the rim of his cup and idly considers that however much that sucker-punch had to have hurt, Genji's in for another one soon. He shouldn't be feeling sorry for the guy, but a slight undercurrent of regret ripples through his conscience. "It's fine," he says, mustering a smile, "I'm just glad I could help."

"And I never got to thank you." Genji ducks his head, pressing his fist over his mouth. His expression perks, some food and a little time to rest apparently enough to re-energize him. "That was incredible, Lúcio. You spoke about your music having physical effects, but I didn't think it would work so quickly."

Lúcio feels himself flush at the praise. "It's just something I've been playing around with."

"Does it work as long as someone hears the music?"

"Works faster with my equipment, but it's a hassle to set up." He rarely gets to talk about his tech, the music usually a focus during interviews and even casual conversations. Lúcio pushes away the thought that sharing so much information about his work could be dangerous-- Genji's curiosity seems purely academic, admiring; there's no chance he'd be able to recreate it for Shimada purposes, either. "It's about uh, resonance?" Lúcio considers that for a second, then continues. "Yeah, resonance-- it makes all your cells speed up. If I can get the right frequency, I can throw up a shield for a little bit. Takes a while to figure out how to harmonize a group, though."

"That would be interesting to see in action," Genji says, eyes flickering to their waitress as she clears their used dishes away.

"Yeah!" Lúcio rolls his shoulders, memories from the night he'd first broken into Vishkar flashing through his mind. They hadn't lost anyone, but it was a close call; he'd never figured that a major corporation would have security built for the express aim of actually _killing_ intruders. Some of his crew still has the scars, fractal branches burned into their skin-- reminders to never go anywhere so unprepared again. "But let's hope you never have to."

They walk back to the room at a leisurely pace, Lúcio gesturing as he talks. He's moved on to listing some of his discarded ideas for Vishkar's sound tech: bursting eardrums, suppression and debilitation. It all sounds significantly more practical to Genji-- better to finish someone before they hurt you than to lick your wounds after, but he keeps that thought to himself.

"Why did you alter them?" he asks instead, the implication clear.

Lúcio mulls it over, brows furrowing as he considers the question, tries to parse what Genji actually meant by it. "There's always someone to help," he says after a moment, looking sideways at the taller man, "not always someone to hurt. It's just useful in more situations."

A practical, logical answer. "Then why not build another one?"

"I can't get my hands on the parts. Vishkar left Rio, and I don't think they were that common in the first place." Lúcio pauses in front of their room, cardkey already in his hand. He turns to look at Genji, wrinkling his nose at the thoughtful expression on the other man's face. "What?"

"Nothing."

Genji hands him a yukata once they're inside the room, a size smaller than his own. "Have you ever been to an onsen?" he asks, already knowing the answer as Lúcio changes into it, wearing nothing but his compression shorts underneath.

"No?" Raising his arms, Lúcio allows Genji tie his obi, deft hands making quick work of the sash. He shoots a questioning look at the cord Genji has looped over his shoulders, holding his sleeves back, but decides not to question why he doesn't get one of his own. 

"Kagoshima is known for its hot springs," Genji tells him, standing back. His eyes flicker appreciatively across the length of Lúcio's body, lips quirking as the younger man smooths the fabric across his shoulders. "We can have some drinks at the bar, and there is an outdoor bath on the hotel roof."

"That sounds pretty nice."

"Here." Genji ducks into the closet for a pair of slippers, fingers hooked into the cloth straps. "I have stayed here several times before, and I know the bartender on shift."

* * *

The changing room is empty when they enter it, though Lúcio can hear the sound of voices from the women's side of the bath. He doesn't dwell on it too long, glancing around as Genji shrugs out of his yukata and folds it neatly into a small cubby. Neither of them leave their phones, Genji tucking it under his arm as he secures a small towel low on his hips and Lúcio does the same. 

Lúcio's locs are still damp, heavy on his shoulders from a quick shower after their drinks. "Did we pick a good time to be here or what?" he comments, taking in the view over Miyazaki Prefecture, hazy past steam rising between large stones protruding from the water. The tiles under his feet are warm, Genji padding silently across them to the edge of the basin. He makes a noncommittal sound as he lowers himself in and motions for Lúcio to join him.

"What did you do?" Lúcio asks as he dips his toe in, lingering at the edge of hot spring. "Seriously."

"The owner," Genji answers slowly, flashing Lúcio a lazy grin, "felt that other guests would not appreciate sharing a bath with us and our tattoos. Mine especially. The onsen is ours until midnight. Can your legs be submerged?"

Lúcio pauses at the water's edge, an incredulous look on his face. "Yeah," he sighs, "that's not a problem."

"I usually decline the offer," Genji says, "but I thought you should experience this at least once." He shifts to the side, making space on the shelf beneath the water, and slings an arm across the edge of the pool behind Lúcio's shoulders the moment he's settled.

Genji exhales slowly as he closes his eyes, back of his head thunking against the stone behind him. Lúcio stares for a long second at his bared neck, the broad plane of his chest, and shifts closer. The look Genji turns on him when he feels Lúcio's fingers ghost along the edge of his tattoo is unfocused and soft, painfully vulnerable. "Hi," Lúcio breathes, the rest of whatever he was about to say dissolving into a startled laugh as Genji sits upright and pulls him into his lap. 

He keeps his eyes open this time, gaze following Lúcio's hands as they travel across his shoulders, down his arms. When Lúcio runs his fingers across the scarred, puckered skin on his neck, Genji goes still, tolerantly allowing him to rub his thumb against a badly-healed burn. "What's wrong?" he murmurs, catching Lúcio's expression. 

"What happened?" Brows furrowing, Lúcio inspects the scars again, trying to place the shape of them. "Did you get caught in an explosion or something?"

"Nothing so dramatic," he answers, and before Lúcio has a chance to ask further Genji ducks his head underwater and blows a raspberry against his ribs.

By the time Lúcio's grabbed his chin and pulled him back up, he's forgotten the question, laughing too much to retrace the conversation as he brushes water out of Genji's face, thumbs stroking across his brows, palms settling on his cheeks. Lúcio closes his eyes, teeth worrying at his bottom lip as Genji's hand leaves his back to dip between their bodies.

He looks up when a buzz rattles against stone. "Hey," says Lúcio as the screen of Genji's phone lights up and the device begins to vibrate, "think you got a call."

"Ignore it," Genji murmurs, but as the first chords of a Pokemon theme (instrumental version, Lúcio notes) begin to play he sighs. 

"I think it's your brother," Lúcio tells him, 兄者 flashing onscreen over Genji's shoulder. 

"It is. Hang on."

Lúcio backs off as Genji hauls himself out of the water and swipes up his phone, retreating to a secluded corner to pick up his call. Pushing away a vague sense of disappointment, Lúcio kicks away from the pool edge and toward the opposite end of the bath, where water streams steadily over a ledge that looks out onto the city. At least the view is nice-- in both directions. Genji's still dripping wet, a towel draped across the back of his neck and nothing else, his back and legs cutting a sleek figure in the dim lighting.

Even before properly greeting his brother Genji asks, 「Any updates?」 

He's been waiting on the call since dinner, when an underling texted that damage to a stock of building materials would significantly delay construction on their projects in Rio. It's not actually his jurisdiction, but Hanzo had wanted him to take more interest in the business end and had instructed their partners to include Genji in these exchanges-- the cut of narcotics and weapons they receive always results in a decent payout. 

「We have an idea of who's behind it,」 Hanzo tells him. 「I may need you to fly out to Rio.」

「That serious?」

「It won't be for a few days.」 Genji huffs into the receiver at the sound of Hanzo scratching his beard, a nervous tic. 「The head of the Kawaguchi Group called,」 Hanzo sighs after a moment, sounding so tired that Genji almost feels a pang of guilt for getting punched in the face. 

「Ah.」

「He wanted to apologize for his underling.」 Another pause. 「Are you alright?」

「Fine.」

「He said you got hit in the eye.」

「All better now,」 Genji reassures him, 「thanks to Lúcio.」

「Is it?」

「I'm fine, brother.」

Hanzo lets the subject drop, mightily resisting the urge to lecture him. 「I hear the Yamanaka Group is in the area as well,」 he says instead, voice soft. 「Be careful.」

Genji mulls that over, racking his brains for any recent conflicts with the other family and coming up empty. 「What did you do to the Yamanaka Group?」 he finally asks, deciding that being admonished for inattentiveness might be preferable to getting caught off-guard while he's in town. 「I've been gone for half a day.」

「We won a bid over them for a project in São Paulo.」

「So much trouble in Brazil,」 Genji quips. 「It's like having a clingy girlfriend. We should just pull out.」

「Hm.」

「Take it from someone who--」

「Stop.」

Genji laughs, pressing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he slips his towel from around his neck and wrings it out, twisting it around his wrist as he talks. 「Keep me posted.」

「I will,」 says Hanzo.

「And get some rest!」 

「I will.」

「Have you eaten yet?」 Genji makes a displeased sound at Hanzo's silence, pulling his phone away from his ear to check the time. 「It's almost eleven. Go eat.」

「Have you?」

「You don't really think I'd pass up kaiseki.」

「What are you doing right now?」 Hanzo asks.

「I'm in the onsen.」

「Oh.」

Shifting his weight impatiently between his feet, Genji looks over his shoulder, eyes lingering on the curve of Lúcio's back, the way his head bobs to some inaudible beat as he takes in the cityscape, arms folded across the ledge. 「With our guest.」

「Did I--」

「You interrupted.」

「My mistake.」

「I'm calling Yamada to make you a snack,」 Genji tells him, sounding smug that he hadn't forgotten his original train of thought. One of the perks of being born into an ancient family with wealth to spare and generations of established connections is a family chef, one who's known them since they were children, well acquainted with each of their tastes and habits.

「Don't,」 says Hanzo, more out of annoyance than any desire to spare Yamada the trouble. 「It's late.」

「If you don't text me a picture of you eating something in twenty minutes,」 Genji threatens, 「I'm calling him.」

「If you have the energy to be worrying about me,」 Hanzo snorts, 「I suppose your eye can't be _that_ injured.」

The next time Genji looks toward Lúcio, they make eye contact. Lúcio raises a hand in greeting and impatiently splashes hot water in his general direction. 「I'll be home soon, we can talk more then.」 Genji grins as he returns to the bath, switching pointedly back to English as Lúcio makes his way over. "I think I've kept Lúcio waiting long enough."

「Don't do anything stupid,」 Hanzo tells him, an affectionate lilt to his voice, before he hangs up.

"What was that all about?" Lúcio asks as Genji sets his phone down and lowers himself into the water. "Something happen?"

"A slight delay at our Brazilian construction sites." Genji presses his lips to Lúcio's shoulder, his arms curling around his waist. "My brother wants me to check it out personally."

Lúcio makes a mental note to tell Taka to scatter the crew and lay low for a while. He hasn't actually seen Genji in his element (so far, it seems like Genji mostly parties and eats junkfood whenever possible), but he doesn't doubt the other man is probably _capable_ of plenty. "Whoa," he says out loud, turning to meet Genji's eyes, "you're gonna be in Brazil? I'm jealous."

"Not for a few days yet."

"Plenty of time now."

Genji braces one arm on the edge of the basin behind Lúcio's shoulders, the other looped in front of him, trapping him against the stone. Lúcio's head drops back as Genji presses a long, slow kiss to the line of his jaw. 

Whatever thinly-veiled brags Genji makes about his prowess in bed, Lúcio decides promptly that the man enjoys kissing more. "We shouldn't do this here," Genji almost croons, the sound of his voice reverberating along the shell of Lúcio's ear, "but I don't think I can help myself."

Lúcio laughs, eyes shut against the steam, ears tuned to Genji's breath. He cups Genji's cheeks with his hands, pulling him up to kiss him soundly on the mouth, breath hitching when the other man shifts closer, almost into his lap. The sensations grow hazy, though no less pleasant, as Genji moves on. A weightless dizziness washes over him, his arms heavy. 

"Lúcio," Genji says softly, almost moans against his collar. Then again, sounding alarmed as he pulls back: "Lúcio?"

Lúcio misses whatever happens next but he's on his back when he comes to, the rim of a cool bottle of water pressed to his lips as Genji supports his head. "Heat exhaustion," Genji says stiffly, sounding utterly mortified as he helps Lúcio sit up. "I forgot to warn you not to stay in the water too long."

"I'm okay," answers Lúcio, his words groggy. "I'm good."

Genji presses the bottle into his hand and a cold towel to his forehead. "Drink."

"Thanks," Lúcio says, drinking.

"Let's go back to the room." Genji wrinkles his nose at Lúcio's snicker, then swipes his towel across the rest of Lúcio's face, his neck and collar, the material cool against feverish skin. "You should eat something."

Sighing, Lúcio lets his head drop against Genji's shoulder. The taller man shifts to accommodate him, hand settling lightly on his hip. Lúcio huffs, looking up at Genji's face, and his stomach does an odd flip at the concern in his expression. "It's almost midnight, isn't it?"

"There is a Family Mart down the block," Genji says immediately, full fuss-mode kicking into gear. "There is also an izakaya next door, if that is more to your taste."

"Conbini is fine," Lúcio murmurs, privately amused at the sight of Genji losing his cool for once. "When you're in Rio," he adds at Genji's soft affirmative, "I'll send you a list of all the places you gotta go."

"I would appreciate that. And I'm sorry about... all of this."

"I'm fine." Lúcio looks at Genji out of the corner of his eye as they both stand, a slow grin spreading across his face. "This is all just a lot to take in."

The answering smile is sly-- a little smug, a lot of implications. "Not too much, I hope."

"Don't," Lúcio laughs, "flatter yourself."

* * *

They return to the room with snacks from the local convenience store, a ball of cellophane from two onigiri in Genji's hands and a sandwich wrapper in Lúcio's, two of them walking in amiable silence. Their futon are already laid out, corners of the sheets turned back and the lighting dim. It all looks _very_ welcoming and hospitable, Genji toeing off his slippers as Lúcio does the same, sliding them carefully off so the cloth straps don't get caught in the seams of his prostheses. While Lúcio roots through his duffle bag for his wrap, Genji excuses himself to the bathroom to pick a grain of rice out of his teeth.

Lúcio wanders to the balcony, his hair finally just dry enough to put up for the night; he squints at the sky, blue-grey clouds illuminated from both moon and the city lights. A cool breeze whips past him and he retreats back into the room to settle on one futon, rolling over onto his side with his phone to check his messages.

In the bathroom, an alert pings Genji as he sets his phone down to brush his teeth, the weekly reminder to back up his data. Hanzo had insisted on pushing the notifications to him directly, some compulsive need for a weekly record of both their activities. Sticking his toothbrush into his mouth and turning a handle to fill the sink with hot water, Genji opens the device's settings menu, pausing at a tag that tells him the last backup was created only a day ago: contacts, messages, notes, e-mails, voicemails all sent to the usual encrypted server. None of his mobile games settings. 

He dismisses the alert, then tabs quickly through his messengers and e-mail accounts to take stock of the previous week's dealings, all the e-mails he'd been CC'd in regarding inspection dates, plumbing appointments and construction progress on the new projects. He turns briefly to look at Lúcio as he replays their conversations in his mind, the uneasy looks he'd gotten through dinner, and by the time he glances back at his cell, it's locked itself again.

The distinct possibility that he's just being paranoid occurs to him, but he'd known this was a risk: Lúcio's a revolutionary, to some a fugitive, and it'd been a mistake to set that aside. If Genji had ever felt a kind of kinship with the other man, it's because they're both willing and able to act quickly and go to great lengths for whatever causes seem to be worth their attention. Regardless, his phone's been compromised.

Genji stares at the dimmed screen for a long minute, then lets the device slip from his fingers into the sink, submerged completely for several seconds before he reaches in after and wakes it up. The screen brightens, flickers, droplets of water distorting the image as circuits fry and then it shuts off completely. The phone he tucks into his obi to dispose of later, and then then he returns to the room with an easy grin, crouching on the tatami beside Lúcio's futon.

"Hey," says Lúcio, sitting up and shifting to the side as Genji ignores his own futon and joins him. He sets his phone aside and obligingly allows Genji to curl an arm around his waist, free hand undoing the knot of his obi and pulling the neck of the yukata aside to bare his shoulder. "Picking up where we left off," he observes, laughing at the rumble of agreement as he's gently but insistently pushed onto his back.

"Exactly," says Genji, swinging one leg across Lúcio's body to straddle his hips as he shrugs his own yukata off his shoulders.

Lúcio yawns, arms stretched above his head as Genji's lips brush across his cheek, one hand sliding up his arm to close loosely around his wrists.

"Lúcio," Genji breathes, softly into his ear.

"Mm?"

His grip tightens, pinning Lúcio to the futon. "How did you know," says Genji, voice low and terse, "that I would be in Rio?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (:


	4. Chapter 4

Lúcio's first inclination is to play it off-- where else would Genji go but Rio if he were going to Brazil? Of course he'd assume Rio de Janeiro, like any self-respecting carioca would. It takes him a second too long to decide and by then the moment's passed where he could plausibly pretend to not know what Genji could be talking about. He doesn't answer, eyes darting toward the door before they land back on Genji's face.

"It's you, isn't it?" Genji doesn't let up, his brows furrowing as Lúcio tries to break out of his hold and fails, no leverage with his arms and legs pinned. "Your people are sabotaging our projects in Brazil."

Begrudgingly, Lúcio acknowledges the absolute control it takes to keep someone as flexible as him in place-- Genji's grip is tight but not enough to bruise or cut off circulation, his weight carefully distributed across Lúcio's legs to keep him from gaining any sort of purchase. "You mean the arms warehouses you're building for narcos in my city?" he spits, trying to twist free again before he gives up and scowls instead. "Yeah. That's us. How big of a cut do you get? How many people died for you to push that deal through?"

"Lúcio," Genji says, softly.

"Let go of me."

"Lúcio, stop struggling. I won't hurt you."

"Yeah," Lúcio sneers, "I'm supposed to believe that."

"I don't want to hurt you," Genji amends, his expression hardening. 

Fear flashes across Lúcio's expression, a minute widening of his eyes, his brows furrowing, the tendons in his neck cording from the effort of straining against Genji's weight. "Get off me," he hisses, the undercurrent in his voice edging closer to panic than the barely-controlled calm he'd managed to muster.

Genji's made a lifestyle out of fear, recognizing it and playing to it (primarily inducing it). Still, something about seeing it on Lúcio's face leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he's never been one to needlessly tolerate unpleasantness. He lets go, pushes himself to his feet, backing off quickly before Lúcio can put an opportunistic knee in an inconvenient place. "You knew all this," Genji says, crossing his arms as Lúcio sits up and pulls a knee to his chest, "but you still let me..."

Lúcio drags his hands down his face, trying to ignore the rush of blood in his ears, his pulse still racing. Up until about thirty seconds ago he hadn't once entertained the possibility that Genji could be a danger to him, that any shred of hostility would ever be directed his way. Even now the other man looks more hurt than angry, frustration in the set of his mouth and the line between his brows. "Look," Lúcio sighs, rubbing his eyes, "it's-- I like you. A lot more than I should."

It _doesn't_ help that Genji hasn't fixed his yukata, the top of it hanging loosely around his hips, held up only by the sash he hadn't bothered to undo. He pitches his voice low and quiet, and despite the gravity of the situation he manages a skewed smirk. "But," Genji says, "you were going to keep lying to me?"

Lúcio gives him a look. "Don't even."

Genji takes a deep breath-- then lets it out, eyes closed. "How do I fix this, Lúcio?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want your friends to die," Genji tells him, "but I also can't allow them to continue as they are. If my brother is asking me to go to Brazil, it is not for a negotiation."

The candor is jarring, that urgency in Genji's voice even moreso. Lúcio picks out a resigned undercurrent to his voice, an anchoring beat thrumming under the otherwise deceptively smooth rhythm of his speech. "He wants you to resolve this personally," Lúcio translates aloud.

"Yes."

The absolute confidence that Genji won't hurt him crashes back into Lúcio's consciousness; even driven to this point, Genji couldn't bring himself to take care of his biggest problem on the spot. Logically Lúcio knows he should have and any pragmatic gangster would've shoved a knife between his ribs already, but whatever Genji sees in him-- whatever trust he's placed in him, Lúcio's sure that it's not as easily broken as he'd thought. "You don't have to do that," he answers. 

"Funny," says Genji.

Lúcio's hackles rise immediately at the contempt in Genji's voice. "Yeah," he snaps, "it's all a game to you guys. Your brother waves his hand and some guy with a family six thousand miles away drops dead so a decimal point moves one space right on your bank statement." Genji doesn't dispute it, his expression flattening. "And you're not even happy doing this, so what's it all worth?"

Genji judiciously avoids pointing out that the decimal point moves significantly more spaces right. "This clearly isn't a game to me, Lúcio." Rubbing his face, he peers over his fingertips to regard Lúcio, serious again. "If you tell your crew to back off our projects, I can convince my brother to let this time go."

"Do you know," says Lúcio, fighting to stay calm, "what happens to the neighborhoods these guys move through?"

"Work around them." Genji sees Lúcio's hands clench into fists and sighs. "I don't want you hurt," he says, settling cross-legged on the floor in front of Lúcio, his legs folded under him, "personally or by proxy."

"You know I can't." His voice cracks on the last syllable and Lúcio takes a second to breathe, to still the quiver of rage threatening to overtake his senses. "What I stand for and what you stand for? Genji, they can't coexist." 

Genji doesn't dispute that, either, eyes trained on Lúcio's face. 

It takes him another second, but Lúcio manages to find a shred of calm, clinging to it past the roiling thoughts clamoring to be voiced. "You say you want to help people," he says, voice flat, "but you're too scared to actually do something about it."

"Then when you leave Japan," Genji answers, putting a hand on his knee and gracefully pushing himself to his feet, "you can remember me as a coward." He doesn't move to leave, though he visibly considers it, weighing the pros and cons of either booking another room for the night or a flight directly back to Hanamura for damage control.

Lúcio scrambles to his feet as well, pulling up to his full height and internally noting that the effect is pretty unimpressive. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I think you should go before Hanzo puts a hit on your head." Genji doesn't meet his eyes, turning to his suitcase for a new phone and a change of clothes. The former was a compromise with Hanzo they'd struck years ago-- both of them would have a spare at all times. "If I can make the connection," Genji says, "so can he, and he definitely will when I call him from a new phone. You may not want to return to Brazil, however."

Lúcio stares at the back of his head. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't advice, and especially not in that flat, cool pitch. Genji's always reserved; even at his most enthusiastic there's a measured, restrained air to his movements and even at his calmest his voice had a cadence and warmth that Lúcio'd considered making music to. He pushes that thought aside, hands clenching helplessly into fists again as Genji turns on his spare phone and pulls up a messenger app. "That hasn't been an option for me for a long time," Lúcio says, frowning.

"I will have your equipment delivered," Genji tells him, "to your drop site in California."

 _He's not gonna do anything about my drop site?_ almost instantly overwhelms the mental sirens screaming _He knows about my drop site!_ and Lúcio idly considers that if Genji's a proper yakuza at all, he's the worst one Lúcio's ever known. All that information at his fingertips and he's just going to let the stray DJ he fell into bed with keep undermining the family business. 

It's a wonder he's survived as long as he has. 

Lúcio steps in close, peering up into Genji's face. "Come with me?"

That startles a short laugh out of Genji. "What?"

"I'm serious. Come with me. Who says you have to stay here?" Lúcio motions vaguely around them, indicating the hotel, Kagoshima, all of Japan, the Shimadas' influence even outside of that. "Who says you have to keep... letting all this happen?"

"Lúcio."

"You can stay with me and my guys." Genji wouldn't even be the first ex-gangster in his crew. "I'll put you up, we'd travel the world."

"It's kind of you to offer," answers Genji, slowly, the look on his face as if he were seeing Lúcio for the first time. 

"But?"

"Do you believe you're the first one to ask? Do you think I don't have the resources to disappear if I wanted to?" Genji swipes his clothes off the tatami-- those sweatpants again, a t-shirt and a nondescript hoodie. "I like you," he says matter-of-factly, ducking into the bathroom to change, "very much, but my brother needs me."

Not even a full day ago Lúcio wouldn't have thought twice about following him in. Now, he drifts closer, stops outside, looking through the door that Genji hadn't bothered to close. "So you'd choose him."

"I would choose him every time." Genji's voice is barely muffled behind the thin material of his shirt, hair mussed as he pokes his head through the top. "He's my family, and I've known you four days."

"You're not choosing your family," Lúcio points out, "just Hanzo. If he ditched the family, you'd go with him." He says it with confidence; everything that he knows about Genji (which honestly feels like too much, given the few days they've actually known each other) tells him he's not wrong. Whatever else Genji seems to be, loyal tops that list. 

"He has put himself at risk for my sake," Genji agrees. The doubt in his bearing is gone now, replaced with a cool conviction. "He has protected me since I was born, and he continues to do so. Yes, Lúcio, I am choosing Hanzo."

Lúcio crosses his arms over his chest, one hand sliding up his bicep to close over his tattoo, thumb brushing the three toes of his stylized frog. He sighs, "I can't say I wouldn't do the same if I were you," and looks back up. "Family is everything, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

"I won't stop what I'm doing," Lúcio tells him, almost as much reassurance as warning. His jaw juts out, head cocking back in defiance of whatever else Genji might say. 

An awkward beat passes where neither speak, the weight of everything the two have on their shoulders suspended between them. 

Genji breaks the silence with a simple, "Don't." His lip quirks, eyes softening. He reaches forward, slowly, tips of his fingers brushing along the line of Lúcio's jaw as his head dips to catch and hold his gaze. "I like what you're doing."

Genji's hand shifts from his jaw to his chin, gently bumping it back up to close his mouth. _Worst gangster alive,_ Lúcio thinks, stepping forward, arms curling around his ribs as a pair of much thicker arms wraps around his shoulders, his waist, and draws him in. "Even when it's messing with your profit margin?" he asks, voice muffled against Genji's chest, fingers curling into the soft material of his shirt.

"The one most concerned with our profit margin is my brother." A warm breath puffs against the top of Lúcio's head, and the arms around him tighten for three (long, breathless) seconds before Genji reluctantly lets go and steps away. His expression is calm, voice steady. "I will handle him."

Lúcio inhales, hands turning palms-forward. The easy confidence behind that statement says Genji is sure of his decision-- not necessarily the outcome. Still, it doesn't broker any questioning so Lúcio sighs, scratching the back of his neck. In any other circumstance, they might've been friends. Even a less direct conflict of interest, and Lúcio wonders if he might've let it slide. "Sorta wish it wasn't like this," he says.

"Maybe in another life, it would be different." Genji turns away, kneeling in front of his suitcase to double-check its contents for his imminent trip back to Hanamura. "In this one," he says, head bowed over his luggage, hands still for a moment, "I'm simply glad to have had your company."

* * *

Hanzo intercepts him in the main hall, still dressed in the clothes he was wearing earlier that day. Genji frowns, but that look pales in comparison to the exasperation on Hanzo's face, the dark circles under his eyes. Genji, at least, had managed to sneak in a nap on the way back to the estate. 

「It's Lúcio,」 he says, approaching at a brisk walk.

Unsurprised, Hanzo cants his head to the side. 「It took you long enough,」 he comments, fighting back a smirk at range of expressions that flash across his brother's face. Shock, indignation, worry-- then finally, neutral curiosity.

「When did you find out?」

「The moment it happened, Genji.」 Hanzo crosses his arms over his chest, giving Genji a disapproving once-over. Still in his sweats, a t-shirt, his sword held in his hand for lack of a beltloop or some other fastening. 「You spend the night in his room,」 Hanzo points out, 「and a half day later his people hit the exact three warehouses we're building on his territory? Our partners have put a hit on him already, but they don't know where he is.」

「Ah.」

「Idiot,」 Hanzo sighs, though a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. 「I told you not to do anything stupid.」

「You told me after it had already happened.」

「Where is he?」

「He's leaving tomorrow,」 Genji tells him, tone deliberately light. 「He won't be any more trouble to us. Tell the partners he left as soon as he finished the concert, and give him a fighting chance, at least.」

That non-answer is all Hanzo needs. 「You know how we operate. He's within reach, and I hate loose ends.」

「Don't hurt him,」 says Genji, softly.

「Genji.」

「Please.」

「Genji,」 Hanzo says, uncrossing his arms.

Genji's knuckles turn white as his hand clenches around the sheath of his sword, his stance widening almost imperceptibly. 「I won't let you,」 he adds, serious now.

It isn't the first time they've faced off in this place and Hanzo harshly suppresses the memory of the last time they'd drawn their swords against each other. He's armed, as always, trying desperately not to suspect Genji of _knowing_ what being in the hall does to him, what that defiance makes him want to do to his little brother. ( _I can win_ , Hanzo knows. _If he tries to kill me, I've already proven once that I'm stronger_.)

It's been years since they've had a serious disagreement; Genji always relents. 「How did we end up here again?」 Hanzo sighs, not reaching for his shortsword, eyes on Genji's hand as the younger Shimada also relaxes his grip. 

「Brother, please.」 Genji's tone changes, his 'let's be reasonable' voice usually reserved for angry girlfriends and stubborn business partners now directed at Hanzo. 「He's gone tomorrow.」

「The bounty,」 Hanzo tells him matter-of-factly, 「is _very high_.」

Genji doesn't answer for a long second, but he lowers his blade to the tatami at his feet and steps forward, bumping Hanzo's shoulder with his own. 「It isn't worth it,」 he says, calm and clear, the flash of shrewd understanding surfacing briefly before he'll bury it under that carefree persona he works so hard to maintain. The implication doesn't need to be explicitly stated: A few buildings in Brazil, a few corrupt politicians, a small cut of narcotics and arms-- maintained at the cost of Genji's loyalty? 

Not in a million years.

「You're in love with him?」 Hanzo scoffs. 「You could've just said so.」

「No.」 Genji's head drops to Hanzo's shoulder, weight sagging in relief against his brother. 「It's different,」 he mumbles, yawning as Hanzo's hand settles on the nape of his neck and squeezes, lightly shakes him. He rarely contradicts Hanzo, and never asks for favors; leave it to Genji to blow all this accrued good will on a DJ he met four days ago. 

「Get in contact with him,」 Hanzo says, rolling his shoulders to a soft noise of complaint from Genji. 「If he tries to leave tomorrow, he won't make it out of the airport.」

* * *

> puta madre  
> hes got it bad

Lúcio's on a bullet train speeding to Narita International Airport when his phone starts to buzz, loudly insisting on his attention instead of allowing him a few hours to nap. It's Sombra, of course, and in his sleep-deprived haze he only barely manages to type a coherent reply.

> wha? who?

> shimada castle is W1R3D  
> took a while to get in pero vale la pena

Shimada Castle.

> are you talking about genji

> he really likes you

Lúcio tries not to smile at that: How much is a yakuza's affection worth? Still, he can't help typing out a cheeky message in return. 

> don't sound so surprised ;)

> i mean REALLY  
> sounded like he was about to throw down with his brother

 _That_ comes as a surprise, and Lúcio sits bolt upright in his seat, thankfully without drawing the attention of anyone else in the train car. It's half empty anyway, few people on the road at three in the morning. 

> is he ok???

> worried???????????????

> yes???

He can almost hear Sombra laughing on the other end, one last short message before she disconnects:

> u'll see

That's not comforting in the least, considering how much pleasure she seems to take in holding him in suspense, and the next message he receives (a short missive from an unfamiliar number) does absolutely nothing to alleviate the anxiety. 

> get off the train at hanamura

It's probably Genji. Almost definitely. Genji-from-his-new-phone... which he had to start using because Sombra hacked his other one. Lúcio's halfway through a reply before he deletes the entire message, thoughtfully regarding the device in his hands before he opens a menu and opts to call the other number instead. Anyone can take Genji's phone and text him, but the sound of his voice would be unmistakable, especially to Lúcio's trained ears. 

Someone picks up after the first ring. "Lúcio?"

Lúcio breathes a sigh of relief before he murmurs, voice kept low to avoid disturbing sleeping passengers. "Yeah, it's me."

"You should come back," says Genji. "It's safer here."

"Is it gonna be alright for me to be in Hanamura?"

"Yes." Genji's tone is calm, unhurried. That's reassuring to Lúcio, at least, considering what Sombra had told him. "I promise you, you will not be in danger."

"Alright, I'll see you there."

"If you don't mind staying a few more days in Japan," adds Genji, "it may also give you some cover from anyone who might be looking for you." 

"Yeah, I don't mind."

"Good." A shift of fabric, the sound of metal jingling. Genji pulling on his jacket, grabbing his keys, slipping his wallet into his pocket. The sequence shouldn't be familiar to Lúcio already, but it is. "I will meet you at the train station."

* * *

As promised, Genji picks up him at around six in the morning. He's changed into his usual 'business casual' suit, waiting patiently on the platform with his hands in his pockets as Lúcio's car pulls up to him. "You look terrible," Lúcio tells him, bag swinging on his shoulder as he bounds up to Genji, taking in his haggard expression, the dark circles under his eyes, his hair mussed. Even sleep-deprived, Genji's remembered to apply his cologne, its distinctive scent tickling Lúcio's nose after four hours on a train breathing recycled air. 

"I wonder why," Genji retorts, reaching for Lúcio's baggage and sighing when the smaller man ducks out of range. "How was the trip?"

"It was good."

Genji leaves it at that until they make it back to his car, this one white-- just as heavily reinforced as the other one, but not as overtly. "You can leave your things at Shimada Castle," he says, sliding into the driver's seat and punching in the command to take him back home, "and I will retrieve what you left in the hotel."

"D'you want me to come with you?" asks Lúcio.

"For the moment, you will want to keep your head down."

They spend the twenty-minute ride in silence, Genji's eyes on the road and Lúcio's on the city outside. He'd arrived on the edge of the metropolitan area, Hanamura a smaller, more traditional neighborhood on the outskirts of the town. By all counts, it's a quiet, sleepy neighborhood-- almost quaint, if Lúcio were inclined to use the word. Even its nightlife is relatively tame, mostly young people out to dance, OLs and salarymen on their way home from work stopping for a drink. The idea that a yakuza headquarters is based there would be ludicrous if Lúcio didn't already know it was true. 

At Shimada Castle, Genji takes his bag before he can retrieve it from the back seat himself, and walks Lúcio to a room not unlike the one in the hotel they were staying in. Tatami flooring, a single low table, an unmade futon laid out on the mats. 

"My room," says Genji, excusing himself. "Until we have another one set up for you, please make yourself comfortable here."

The austerity of the place is a little jarring and the pre-dawn quiet even moreso; Lúcio had expected brighter colors, more furniture, maybe some posters or even a desk with computers and equipment-- something more like Genji's office in Hanami or the suite in the hotel. Not this simple room, a half-open shoji leading to the courtyard outside. Of course, he considers, poking his head out of the inner door in search of a bathroom or someone who can point him towards one, maybe that's why Genji spends so much time away from home.

Ducking back inside, Lúcio rummages through his bag for a change of clothes, kneeling in the center of the room while he hunts down a clean shirt. He'd packed enough for three days, so he picks his softest, loosest one. If nothing else, at least he might catch a few hours of sleep. The excitement of the night before and the train's seating hadn't made for ideal rest (and he wouldn't have fallen asleep on the train anyway, no guarantee of waking up when he'd arrived in Hanamura), so it takes a second for the sound of the door sliding open behind him to register.

Lúcio turns his head, ready to greet Genji but pausing when he sees Hanzo instead.

"Is Genji here?" Hanzo asks, giving Lúcio a once-over that certainly feels more hostile than the first time they'd met; less 'who is this stranger with my brother' and more 'if I had to kill him, how many ways could I do it with what's available in this room?'

"He'll be back soon," Lúcio tells him, "but uh, do you mind if we talk?"

"I believe we need to." Head tilting, Hanzo prompts Lúcio to follow him out of the room, leading him down a long corridor to another wing of the house, into an office just as minimally decorated as the rest of the place. Whatever work he and Genji do that requires more advanced equipment, they apparently do it in their respective haunts rather than at home. 

"First off," says Lúcio, settling on the cushion across the table from Hanzo, "I wanted to say uh, thanks for having me?"

Hanzo's fingers drum idly against the lid of his laptop, eyes narrowed. "Let's skip the pleasantries," he says, not impolitely. "Both of us are tired, and once I hear what you have to say, we can resolve this matter."

"Straight to business," Lúcio agrees, nodding. "You have a map of Rio?" 

Flipping open his laptop, Hanzo types something, pinches something on the screen, then turns it to show Lúcio the display of a map of Rio de Janeiro. "Here."

"My crew operates in this territory," Lúcio says, circling an area in red, then marking three different spots on the map, "and you've got these buildings in it. I'm not saying you're free to do what you want outside of it, but we can't do a whole lot if you are." Lúcio pauses to sneak a look at Hanzo's face, the other man's expression carefully neutral. "We're _not_ gonna leave these projects alone," he says, "but from what I understand, the companies building them aren't actually yours?"

"We only provide building materials."

"Right. So if my crew keeps damaging the building-- not big stuff, but enough to keep them hobbled-- they'll keep buying from you." Another look, but this time Hanzo's cocked an eyebrow in interest. "Maybe more than they would otherwise. The cartels'll move out of my neighborhood once they realize it's not worth the trouble, and then _Prefeito Vidal_ can lease to some self-respecting local businesses instead."

"I didn't think you would be willing to collaborate," Hanzo muses, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He hadn't expected the sheer venom with which Lúcio had said that name, but compared to the easygoing musician he'd met earlier, the revolutionary inspires a good deal more confidence.

"It's not ideal." Lúcio settles back, arms crossing over the table, his own fingers tapping against the inside of his elbow. "Just thinking about the ecological cost is giving me ulcers, but uh, the enemy I know, right? Vishkar, Vidal, we know how to deal with them."

Hanzo strokes his beard, thumb rubbing idly along an old scar under the bristly hairs. "I see my brother underestimated you," he says, not bothering to hide his surprise.

"I wouldn't be here if he didn't speak up for me," Lúcio deflects gently, flashing his most disarming grin, "so I wanted to return the favor. If you've got some competition in the area, I might even be willing to organize some uh, removal services, free of charge."

"I believe we have an agreement, Mr. Santos. We can discuss details in the coming days."

"Been a real pleasure," Lúcio answers, shaking the hand extended across the table, "Mr. Shimada."

"Likewise."

* * *

By the time Genji's back, Lúcio's showered, changed and made himself a nest on Genji's futon. He's curled up in the center, playing a game on his phone when the room's door slides open, Genji's arms laden with his things. Outside, the sun had cleared the horizon but the shadow of Shimada Castle keeps the courtyard dim and cool.

"I'm home," Genji says, expression breaking into a smile at the sight of Lúcio wrapped up in his blanket.

"Welcome back!"

"I have all your things," says Genji, setting the two duffel bags onto the floor, "but if you find anything missing, let me know and I will replace it." 

Lúcio had barely unpacked and he travels light anyway, everything he can't bear to lose kept with him at all times. The offer is nice, but unnecessary-- other than his amplifier and show equipment, he hadn't even really bothered to keep track of his luggage. Lúcio doesn't stand up, but motions for Genji to join him in the nest. "Hey," he says, "thanks."

Rather than crawling in with him, Genji drops into an easy crouch to bring himself eye level with Lúcio. "My brother told me what you two discussed," he says.

Between putting his phone down and a yawn, Lúcio registers Genji shifting to sit on the edge of the futon, legs crossed under him. "Yeah," Lúcio replies, voice dry, "he is not a good person, man." 

"I know, but he is pragmatic." Genji's expression softens and he reaches forward, hand settling on the side of Lúcio's neck. "That isn't a trait I dislike," he says softly, thumb sliding along the line of his jaw before he leans in, pressing their foreheads together.

Up close, Genji's look of wry amusement seems more tired than anything else. The clear admiration in his eyes is hard to mistake though, and Lúcio gives a cautious, "I'm flattered?"

"I never expected you to be so opportunistic." Genji flashes a grin, the skewed expression telling Lúcio that if their positions were somehow reversed, Genji would have done the exact same thing. "It was my mistake."

"Seems like," drawls Lúcio as Genji's hand drops to his knee, thumb drawing slow circles on the skin just before his prosthetic starts, "you're kinda into it." The rhythm of his movements is slow, leisurely; if he's trying to draw out the memories of the night they spent together, it's working. Internally, Lúcio startles at the idea that they'd only slept together once, considering all that's happened. 

Turning his head, Genji plants a kiss on Lúcio's temple along the edge of his wrap before he pulls away. "It's been a long time since someone has been such a thorn in my side," he agrees.

Lúcio huffs, catching his wrist and pulling it up to his face to inspect Genji's hand. He eyes the faint scars on bony knuckles, the calluses at the base of his fingers, short nails neatly trimmed. Turning his hand, Lúcio flattens his own palm against Genji's and wiggles his fingers, thoughtfully regarding the extra centimeter Genji's fingers have on his own. "Did you sleep with the other one too?"

"No." Genji folds Lúcio's fingers into a fist and pulls his arm down to meet his eyes, this time dead serious. "I killed him."

Lúcio bites the inside of his cheek, slammed back into reality. _He's a yakuza,_ the alarms in the his mind scream, _you idiot!_ "So why me?" he asks before he can stop himself, before his sense of self-preservation kicks in. "Why am I some sort of exception?"

Genji lets go, leans away. He considers his answer, coming quickly to a phrasing that he deems adequate, if a bit of an understatement. "Because the world is better for having you in it," he says frankly, pushing himself to his feet and shrugging out of his blazer, his shirt, striding across the room to retrieve a change of clothes from the closet. "That isn't something that can be said for myself, or the people I normally associate with."

"Genji--"

"Having Hanzo on our side will make things much easier." Genji pulls on a t-shirt, sweatpants. He seems out of place in the ancient, traditional house, but his posture and his bearing seem perfectly comfortable despite that. His tone, on the other hand, is brisk. "Your name will be included on a flight manifest to Mexico dated three days ago. When attention to Hanamura dies down, you will be able to leave without a problem. In the meantime, you can stay in Shimada Castle."

Lúcio lifts the corner of his blanket, grinning when Genji finally joins him under it. "What happens if someone sees me around?" 

"I intend," says Genji, hand on his thigh, pressing a kiss to his cheek before hissing into his ear, "to keep you far away from any prying eyes in the remainder of our time together."

Turning, Lúcio watches Genji rearrange his futon into a semblance of its previous order (though both pillows go flying), straightening the blanket until he stretches out under it. "Oh," Lúcio quips, laughing as Genji drags him down, one arm tightening around his waist as his back is pulled flush to Genji's chest, "I like the sound of that."

"Of course," Genji amends, absently nosing at what he can reach of Lúcio's neck, "I can't stop you from leaving the property, and there are several places you have to see before you leave, but--"

"Genji," says Lúcio, turning his head. He's met with an open, playful expression on Genji's face, somewhat dazed from sleep deprivation but no less eager to pick up where they'd left off.

Genji mumbles against Lúcio's shoulder, plowing on as though he hadn't heard at all. "I can ask someone to set up the guest room if you prefer--" 

"Genji," Lúcio tries again.

"-- though I would not mind you staying with me--"

"Genji!"

Genji blinks. "Ah... yes?"

Lúcio turns over, happily finding himself face-to-face with a sheepish grin. Genji tangles their legs together without hesitation, fitting his own comfortably against the grooves of aluminum prosthetics, as if they've known each other for months instead of days. "You need to get some sleep," Lúcio sighs, brushing his fingers across Genji's cheek, gently grazing the dark semicircles under his eyes as they slide shut. "Were you up all night?"

"My brother and I were discussing with our partners in Brazil how to proceed," Genji tells him, one arm under his own head and the other draped over Lúcio's body, his thumb idly working at a tense knot of muscle by his spine. "The time difference is inconvenient," he murmurs, almost unintelligible, "but they know nothing of your involvement with us."

Lúcio says nothing, eyes on Genji's face as his features smooth and his breathing evens out. The hand at his back stills, the weight of Genji's arm settling on his ribs. Yawning, Lúcio shuffles closer, tucks his head under Genji's chin and smiles as the other man shifts to accommodate him. They'll both need to be up in an hour-- maybe two, if Hanzo decides to take pity on his brother and allow him to sleep in. Soon enough, Lúcio will take a plane from Narita International Airport and not return to Japan for months, maybe years.

The last few days have been both too short and dangerously long; the next couple promise to be the same. Whatever else Lúcio will remember of Hanamura, he's sure that this, a quiet moment after a stressful night, will fade from memory far too soon. 

_Still_ , he promises himself as sleep drags him under, _gotta enjoy it while it lasts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (':


	5. Chapter 5

Checking the meeting time and place on his phone again, Lúcio zips down the last block before his destination and swings around the corner, already scanning for whatever awkward suited henchman Hanzo's decided to send this time. Hawaii isn't particularly blistering this time of year, but it's hardly armored-black-suit season, and however much Hanzo's proxies try to blend in, they all maintain a certain look in order to be recognizable. 

This time, Lúcio doesn't find any unfortunate-looking thug-- his eyes settle instead on the lone figure with his back against the brick wall of the 7-ELeven, staring at something on his phone. As if sensing Lúcio's eyes on him, the man looks up, expression breaking into a grin. Lúcio starts forward, pauses, then doubles over laughing as Genji draws nearer, looking chagrined. "What's so funny?" Genji asks, innocently, as if he doesn't know.

"I almost didn't recognize you," Lúcio tells him, gaining control of his laughter for a few seconds before he drops into a squat and wraps his arms over his torso, nursing his ribs as he dissolves into another fit.

"That," answers Genji, rubbing a tuft of his bright green fringe between his fingers, "was the idea."

Lúcio looks up, grinning too hard to stop. "What're you doing out here?" he asks, grabbing the hand Genji extends to pull him to his feet. 

"I thought I would deliver these personally." Genji gestures with a slight tilt of his head toward the manila envelope under his arm, the most recent report on other yakuza operations in Rio de Janeiro. Hanzo had insisted on physical copies, and Genji hadn't disputed it; neither of them would forget Sombra so soon, and even with her nominally friendly with Lúcio, he took every precaution to foil any hackers. Expression softening as Lúcio's hand pulls away, he duly hands over the files. "I've missed you."

Lúcio takes the folder with both hands, the same way Genji had passed it over. "I've missed you too," he answers. It's not the first time in the last year that Genji's surprised him with a visit, but the last one had been nearly six months ago, so long that he'd stopped expecting it. They hadn't discussed any particular arrangement and Lúcio doesn't ask about Genji's exploits in the meantime (he doesn't really want to know), but seeing the other man is, at least, always pleasant. "Are you staying around here?"

"An acquaintance owns an apartment nearby," Genji confirms. "They've allowed me to use it while it's vacant."

"Ooh, lucky. I'm crashing with a friend of mine."

Genji steps closer. "Do you want to get coffee?"

"Yeah," Lúcio sighs, leaning into him for a few seconds until the scratchy linen and the heat of the day prompt him to pull away again, "let's grab some lunch, too."

* * *

Lunch segues neatly into a walk to Genji's (friend's) place, a tastefully designed apartment half a block away from the nearest beach. Genji's clearly been putting it to use, clothes in a pile in the corner and a pillow on the couch in front of a massive television. He had to have been in Hawaii for days before making contact with Lúcio, probably on some other kind of family business. 

"Nice place," Lúcio quips, grinning as Genji curls an arm around his waist and steers him toward the bedroom, pointedly drawing the curtains as Lúcio sits on the edge of the bed, his skates tapping lightly against the floor. If he'd known that Genji would be the one to deliver those files, he would've changed out of them-- the prosthetic legs are more convenient for most of the things they ever do together. "Must be nice having all those connections."

"You don't," says Genji, slowly, "have to take those off. I just like being with you."

"Nah," Lúcio shoots back, flipping the latches at his hips, "I'm gonna, but it'll be awkward for someone as lazy as you." 

Genji turns to look at him, mouth hidden behind his hand but the corner of his eyes crinkled in a smile. "I think we can figure it out."

"Oh yeah?" Lúcio retorts, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it across the room. He shimmies out of his skates next and leans them haphazardly against the bedside table. "What do you have in mind?" 

Genji catches the skates before they can tip over, setting it carefully on the floor before he approaches, hands on Lúcio's arms as he leans in for a kiss. Saying nothing when they break apart, Genji works his way up the line of Lúcio's jaw, down his neck to lavish attention on his shoulder, his collar, his pecs. Lúcio's laughing by the time Genji drops to his knees, biceps bracing his thighs as his hands move to Lúcio's waist, thumbs dragging across the sweep of his hipbones. 

"Hey," Lúcio hisses as deft fingers hook into the waistband of his compression shorts and pull them off, "this is new."

Genji hums, chuckling under his breath when Lúcio shifts at the sound. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No way."

Genji's mouth latches to a spot high on the inside of Lúcio's thigh, teeth grazing his skin, and he laughs again when Lúcio makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, hands flying to his shoulders. "Let's go out for dinner," he murmurs, "I know a place." A kiss. "Very quiet," he adds, eyes flickering up to catch Lúcio's, "nice view."

"Oh," Lúcio gasps, short nails scratching across Genji's scalp, one hand fisting in his hair while the other caresses his cheek, "you're a romantic now."

"I," says Genji, allowing Lúcio to push his head down, "am going to take that as a yes."

* * *

However warm it is outside, Genji's turned the apartment's air conditioner on full blast. He'd done that in Japan, too-- in Hanami primarily, Shimada Castle completely without AC except where it could be tastefully concealed. Lúcio shuffles closer to Genji under the covers, cold nose pressing against the side of his neck. It's nearly dark outside, the light that breaks through cracked curtains soft and diffused.

Genji looks down, thumb stroking idly over the ball of his shoulder. "Lúcio," he says.

"Yeah?"

Ducking his head, Genji presses his lips to Lúcio's temple. "The Shimada Group is ending all operations in Brazil," he murmurs, eyes sliding shut. "We should be out by the end of the month. It's in the file."

Lúcio doesn't answer for a long minute. Contrary to the rush of triumph and satisfaction he'd experienced upon uprooting Vishkar, his stomach drops out, the taste of bitter disappointment in his mouth. Against all reason, the idea doesn't please him at all; with the Shimadas in Rio, other groups had steered clear and with Hanzo's help the cartels had rapidly lost interest. If even the most well-reputed yakuza couldn't keep Lúcio's crew out of their wares, what chance do the others have? 

That aside, he knows the look and sound of something _ending_ , and as much as he'd have liked to say that this all meant nothing, he's never been in the habit of lying to himself. "Oh," Lúcio finally replies when Genji makes an inquisitive sound, expression concerned. "Got it."

"I thought you might be glad to hear that," Genji says.

He is. He should be.

"I am," Lúcio answers cautiously, unable to meet Genji's eyes to convince him of it. "It's just, that means there's not gonna be much reason for us to stay in touch, huh?"

Genji stays motionless, so still that Lúcio's not entirely sure if he's breathing. "I wanted to tell you sooner," he says at last, hand finding Lúcio's and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles, "but my brother only confirmed it earlier today."

"When're you leaving?"

"Tonight."

"Oh," Lúcio says again, looking up, surprised and dismayed. 

"I could stay a few days more," Genji offers as if on reflex, immediately regretting it but determined not to backpedal. "But Hanzo will not be happy."

Considering it, Lúcio musters a brittle smile. "How not happy is not happy?"

"I'll make it work," Genji tells him, dismissing the question. The idea of staying a few days longer, this time _with_ Lúcio, isn't unappealing in the least, and if Lúcio actually _wants_ him to stay, his reasons for saying no would sound weak.

Against his own better judgement Lúcio lets himself be charmed by the sentiment, by Genji's confidence. He shakes himself out of it after a few seconds, pulling his hand away and sitting up, taking the blanket with him. "I think you gotta go home, Genji. I don't want you getting in trouble with your brother."

Genji doesn't try to reclaim the covers, still reclined on his pillows. "We can stay in touch," he says. Relief mixes with resignation: he wouldn't have been able to turn down Lúcio if he'd agreed and the dressing-down he'd get from Hanzo would've lasted days. Still--

Lúcio flashes him an apologetic smile. "I'm not good at that," he admits.

A soft chuckle. "Me neither." Even between them, it was only Hanzo's initiative that had kept Lúcio in contact with the Shimadagumi. Genji rarely calls except to check in after some particularly close call, and they don't talk much when he does. They don't write letters or e-mails, too involved with their own lives and the people in their immediate area to be concerned with someone a thousand miles away.

"I'll let you know when I'm in Japan again," Lúcio promises. "For sure."

Genji swings his legs over the edge of the bed, stands, and makes a round through the room, throwing on his clothes and lobbing Lúcio's back to him. "You better. Hungry?"

"Yeah." Lúcio shrugs off the blanket, changes, then sprawls across the bed to pick up his skates and equip them. "What's the place you were talking about?"

"I think," says Genji, pulling Lúcio to his feet and waiting as the smaller man tests his balance, "they specialize in poke." He waits for Lúcio to give the go-ahead before he heads for the door and slips on a pair of flip-flops to match the boardshorts and sleeveless t-shirt he'd chosen for the rest of the day. The restaurant clearly isn't _too_ classy (but Lúcio never really knows, with Genji)-- probably beachfront or rooftop, if the view is nice. 

"You know I've been eating that nonstop since I arrived," Lúcio tells him, breezing past Genji into the corridor. "Seafood here? Choice."

"Oh?" says Genji, glancing over his shoulder as he pulls the door shut behind him. "Me too."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't stop thinking about this really cool art [@schwartzbrot](http://schwarzbrot.tumblr.com/post/173232341979/plastic-love-by-takeuchi-mariya-running-for) did!!

Opening a _first sold-out stadium show_ isn't something Lúcio gets to do often, but he always jumps at the chance to be present for his friends' successes, to bolster them in any way he can. A trip to Numbani doesn't hurt, and neither does the free time he has after amping up the crowd for the first leg of YAZKO's global tour. He's still riding the wave of his uprising in Rio and the end of his own tour, tinkering with his next album in the months before it drops. Running a whole concert would have put too much of a strain on his schedule, but he'd stepped in readily when Yasu's original opener backed out— family emergency.

He retreats to the dressing room after his set, the fans so shocked by his unexpected cameo that they'd nearly deafened him with their screams; there’s plenty of overlap between his and Yasu’s audiences, and he’s more famous besides.

Lúcio's always loved that vibe, taking care to return the sentiment in kind by putting on the best show he possibly can. It doesn't take long at all to be drenched in sweat and even after properly hyping up YAZKO's audience he's still buzzing with unspent energy, body more tuned to the exertion of headlining a show than opening it. He downs an entire bottle of water, towels off, changes his skates out for the prostheses and a pair of cargo shorts.

Kicking back on the couch with a tablet in his lap, Lúcio crosses both arms behind his head and tunes in to a holographic projection of the concert happening not three hundred meters away. It takes him a while to register several knocks on his door, differentiating it from the steady rhythm of snare drums by its hollow pitch after a moment of puzzling over their place in the song’s arrangement.

He takes a few seconds more to set aside the tablet, roll to his feet and get the door, expression breaking into a grin at the sight of his sound guy with a container of Ethiopian takeout. He’d spent the past two days sampling his way through local Numbanian cuisine, and had boggled at the thought of other traditional African dishes readily available for delivery. His crew had, as ever, remembered the passing comment and made good on it.

—You’re gonna like it,— Drigo informs him, tugging briefly on his earlobe before handing over the bag. Then he pats his stomach, shifting his toothpick between his teeth. —It’s spicy, you eat it with your hands. Your favorite.—

—You started without me,— Lúcio accuses him, mock-offended at the idea of missing a meal with his backstage crew. He only gets a laugh in return, a dismissive ‘of course we did, you were on stage,’ as Drigo leaves him to his dinner-slash-midnight snack-slash-only meal of the day.

He sets out the cardboard boxes on the table in front of the couch and sits heavily to begin unpacking each container, startling when someone knocks on his door _again_.

This time, he takes significantly longer to stand, almost hoping that his visitor had left when the two brisk knocks don’t repeat. He stands in front of the entryway for about ten seconds before curiosity gets the best of him and he opens the door.

The incongruity of seeing Genji in a casual suit standing outside his door shocks him into silence for a long second, and Lúcio eyes the bouquet in his arms. “For me?” he asks.

“It’s for Yasuko-chan,” Genji says in greeting, shifting the flowers between his hands. “You didn’t tell me that you would be in Numbani, or I would have brought one for you too.”

Lúcio narrows his eyes at the other man, determined not to let him see the instant, visceral happiness that wells up in his chest. It’d been nearly three months since they last spoke, almost that same amount of time with not a single peep from either Shimada since they cleared out of Rio. Genji hadn’t been joking when he said that he wasn’t good at staying in touch. “We were keeping it quiet,” Lúcio explains, gesturing for Genji to step inside. “ _You_ didn’t tell _me_ that you’d be in Numbani!”

Genji glances at the flowers in his hand, then sets them on the dresser table, out of the way. “Yasu invited me,” he explains, shrugging out of his blazer, “since it’s her first sold-out stadium outside of Japan. I was so shocked when you appeared on stage.”

Lúcio waits for Genji to set down his jacket before he approaches, clasping his forearm and squeezing, as if in disbelief. “When’d you arrive?” He laughs as Genji pulls him in for a proper hug, sweeping him off the ground and crushing him to his chest. “Where’re you staying?”

“About two hours ago.” Setting him down, Genji grins, eyes not leaving Lúcio for a second as he gives him the usual once-over, both hands lingering on his shoulders. “Apex International Hotel.“

“I met the family that runs that place.” Lúcio comments, curling one hand around Genji’s wrist and pulling him toward the sofa to sit. They settle next to each other, leaving ample space on the long couch. “Pretty much the best you can get in Numbani.”

“You could come see it later,” Genji offers, mischievous. “I will only be in town for a night.”

Lúcio smiles back, dropping one hand to Genji’s thigh and rubbing his thumb along the side of his knee. “I would,” he drawls, “but I’m in the suite already, so.”

“Not penthouse?” Genji sounds genuinely curious, curling one arm around Lúcio’s shoulders and pressing his cheek to the side of his head. “I tried to book it for my stay,” he adds, turning to press a kiss to his temple, “but it was already reserved. I asked for a standard room instead.”

“Yasu’s in the penthouse,” answers Lúcio, leaning into Genji’s side, “I wasn’t even gonna stay at Apex, but they offered the suite for free if I took a picture there and posted it online, so how could I not?”

“Sellout,” Genji murmurs, laughing, arm tightening around him.

Lúcio pulls away, just enough to fix Genji with a pointed look— one that says he’d rather not reveal this information, but will for the sake of dispelling whatever illusion might exist in Genji’s head that he’s become some kind of corporate shill. “Added the price of my room to a donation for a school in Ghana, actually. And bought my guys dinner.”

Genji only smiles back, his eyes desperately soft. “This is why we wouldn’t have worked out,” he says. "You're too good for me."

“You buy a new Rolex with the discount or what?”

“I thought about it,” Genji says, blithe. “Why a school?”

“It’s a university.” Lúcio’s heel taps against the floor, his expression lighting up as he latches onto the conversation about his latest fixation. “They’ve got some pretty cool projects in the works, but grant funding ran dry a few days ago and they started crowdfunding. I linked it online.“

Genji’s hand drops down to his waist, chin settling on Lúcio’s shoulder as the DJ allows contact again. “I don’t check your feeds, but tell me more about them.”

It only takes a few more exchanges for Lúcio to lose track of the conversation, distracted by the brush of Genji’s thumb along the sweep of his hip, his eyes landing on the boxes left distributed across the surface of the table. “Let’s talk school later,” he says. “Did you eat yet? After you arrived?”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to have dinner with me, but you seem to be set.”

“There’s enough for us both, and besides, we can go out for more later.” Lúcio shifts, trying not to laugh at the tickle of Genji’s breath against his neck, the brush of lips over his pulse. “Have you ever had kitfo? It smells amazing.”

“I haven’t,” Genji murmurs. “ _You_ smell amazing.”

“Hold that thought.” Lúcio leans forward, unboxing the rest of the containers and pulling them closer. He turns up a handful of sanitary wipes and tosses one to Genji. “We gotta eat first.”

* * *

Later: Genji, pressed white shirt pulled half off his shoulders and hair mussed, looms over Lúcio, one hand braced on the back of the couch and the other by his ear. He leans down, pressing their foreheads together. “I missed you,” he says when Lúcio looks up at him. “I thought that not hearing from you would make it easier.”

“Did it?” Lúcio whispers back, shifting his legs to settle them more comfortably in Genji’s lap. He sits up enough to sweep his locs over the couch’s arm, out of the way and off the back of his neck.

“In some ways, no.” Genji’s eyes flicker to the holographic projection of YAZKO’s concert, still playing at a subdued volume. “In others,” he says softly, “I am more aware than ever that we live in different worlds.”

Part of Genji’s charm had been his earnest enthusiasm, held under the absolute sway of his carefully honed restraint. Lúcio had always considered himself the exact opposite— total control masked by unfettered cheer. For a man who had once suggested that he’s a trained ninja, Genji’s poker face doesn’t hold a candle to Lúcio’s.

Lúcio’s acutely aware of it now, taking in the serious set of Genji’s mouth and the furrow between his brows. He’s clearly exhausted, dark fringe falling into dry, bloodshot eyes.

“I’m not gonna leave my life,” Lúcio affirms, both hands coming up to cup Genji’s face and squish his cheeks, “and you’re not gonna leave yours.”

“No.”

“No point missing what was never gonna be.” Pulling him down, Lúcio kisses Genji on the nose. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were gonna be in Numbani.”

Genji snorts, his weight settling against Lúcio’s chest as one arm slides under his neck, supporting his head in place of the couch arm that had previously served as a pillow. “If I had known you were here,” he grumbles, “I might have come more prepared.”

“Oh?” asks Lúcio, with a suggestive quirk of his brow.

Genji reconsiders his words. “I didn’t mean like that.“

“It’s okay if you meant it like that,” Lúcio wheezes through his laughter.

“Mentally prepared,” Genji amends, gently poking Lúcio in the side.

“Oh,” Lúcio retorts, writhing away from the jab, “so you would’ve swept me off my feet instead of turning up outside my dressing room with with all those flowers? 'Cause that wasn't enough or something?”

“The flowers,” Genji sighs, “were _not_ for you.”

* * *

Lúcio's alone when he wakes up, head pounding from the drinks he'd knocked back with Yasuko and Genji the night before. He considers as he sits up and yawns that he's getting too old to be having nights like that, especially the part where he wakes up, body sore in every muscle he has and some he didn't know existed, to an empty bed, a packet of painkillers, breakfast, and a note on the bedside table. 

_'Early flight. —Genji.'_

Lúcio washes down the pills with a gulp of orange juice, then digs into the main course: omelette with a side of fried sweet plantains. He scrolls through his messages in the meantime, pausing at an update addressed specifically to thank him, from a university e-mail.

Crowdfunding goal met and then some. Generous anonymous donation to push them over the finish line from someone referred by Lúcio.

He rolls his eyes, grinning, and slaps down his phone face-down on the table. 

Lúcio takes his time with breakfast.


End file.
